


Ghost on the Shore

by heckalotta



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: (does that make sense?), Alternate Universe - Magic, Fluff, Frogs, Lance (Voltron)-centric, Lance tries to be scary & intimidating but he's Lance so that goes as expected, M/M, Minor Character Death, Rated T for swearing, Slow Burn, Smitten Keith (Voltron), but from Keith's perspective, i accidentally romanticized a SWAMP what the hell, it gets kinda sad, of sorts? it's complicated, will update tags as I go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2019-06-29 23:02:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 35,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15739089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heckalotta/pseuds/heckalotta
Summary: After moving into an desolated house in a swamp, Keith finds that the area's not as abandoned as he anticipated. He soon meets Lance, a mysterious boy that apparently lives out in the marsh, and who seems to possess magical powers to a certain degree.





	1. Moving In

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the song [The Ghost on the Shore](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1QthMaFm6-g) by Lord Huron.
> 
> A big thank you to Eli for beta-ing this chapter!
> 
> Wow, this one's been a _long_ time coming. I've been working on this since... pre-s3? It's been a huge undertaking for me.  
>  Ever since s7, I've felt a little... uninspired to finish this. I considered scrapping the whole thing, but the fact that I've put so much work into it stopped me.  
> So please, without further ado, enjoy.

By the time the train had entered the station, the sun was beginning its decent down past the horizon, bathing the locale in a golden light. Picking up his bags, Keith disembarks the train with a yawn. The trip had been longer than expected, and despite napping during it, he was still a little tired.

The train station he got off at was, for a lack of a better term, beat-up. It had clearly been there a long time and lacked frequent maintenance, if the faded roofing, chipped paint, and splintery paneling was anything to go by. Entering the building, Keith made a face at all the spiderwebs scattered along it.

The interior, which he expected to look just as outdated, was startlingly stale and lackluster. It was a single room seating and reception area, with exception to two communal bathrooms. To his right was the receptionist, nose-deep in a magazine, and to his left, the sitting area. It was completely empty.

_ Exciting town, _ he thought to himself.

Keith began looking around for some sort of map or brochure, pretty much anything to help him get his bearings, but the station seemed empty of those as well. Great.

“Uh, excuse me,” he starts while approaching the main desk, trying to get the employee’s attention.

“JESUS,” she shouts, toppling off her stool and dropping the magazine in the process. Keith jogs over as she pulls herself back up from the ground.

“Are you alright?” he asks.

“When did you  _ get _ here?” she asks, fixing the large glasses on her face back into place.

“A minute or so ago,” he answers. “I guess… you don’t have a lot of business around here?”

“No, hardly anyone in a week. This place is a ghost town. Is this your first time in the area?”

Keith sheepishly nods.

“That’d explain it,” she continues on, “anyone who’s ever been here knows how quiet it is. I’m Katie.” She extends her hand in greeting.

“Keith,” he says as he shakes it.

“So, what’s the occasion? Visiting some family?”

“Uh, no. I’m moving in.” Katie’s eyes widen at this.

“Really? Where?”

Keith squintes down at the writing he’d scrawled on the back of his hand earlier, which was now a little smudged. “180 Little Beach Road?”

“Uh…” Katie trails off, apparently doing some sort of mental search for his address. “Oh!” she says in recognition, before her face drops. “Oh.  _ There?” _

“What about it?” Keith frowns.

“There’s a swamp surrounding that street, and the house at that address is practically  _ in _ the swamp. It’s kinda trashy, too,” she admits.

Keith curses. The house  _ had _ looked way too nice online to be selling for the cheap price he bought it at. The realtor had probably used old photos from back when it was in its prime.

“Yeah,” she continues on, apparently dying to talk to someone after another boring work day, “rumor has that it’s haunted, too.”

Keith’s eyes snap up to her. “What?”

“Last homeowner there went, like, tearing out of the place yelling about writing on the walls or something. Everyone that’s tried to move in since never stayed.”

Keith furrows his eyebrows. “That’s ridiculous.” 

Katie shrugs. “Just saying. Anyways, it’s a little while away from here. I can give you the number for the cab, if you want.”

“ _ The _ cab?” Keith asks, confused.

“It’s a home business,” Katie shrugs. “The town’s too small for a legitimate cab company to work up here.” She recites the number as he punches it into his phone.

Waving his goodbyes to Katie, Keith waits outside for his ride. Thankfully, the cabbie doesn’t take too long arriving, and only sounds a little incredulous when informed of his destination.

“You mean that street down the swamp?”

“ _ Yes _ , the street down the swamp.”

As they arrived, Keith saw that Katie wasn’t exaggerating. At the very end of the (badly beat up) street was his small, lone house, and surrounding it on almost all sides was a swamp.

_ Great, _ Keith thinks,  _ trade one shack for another. _ He gets out of the car after paying, and grabs his multiple bags from the trunk. His chauffeur rolls down the driver’s-side window, and watches him.

“So… you, uh… moving in here?” asks the cabbie, who apparently has an opinion or two to express.

“What of it?” Keith snaps, fed up, yanking his belongings free from the trunk.

“Woah, calm down man. I was just asking.”

“Yeah,  _ sure _ ,” Keith all but growls, disengaging with the man. The driver decides he’s done pestering Keith as well, and drives off as Keith makes his way to the front door.

He makes to turn the doorknob, but pauses and exhales a frustrated breath. He had bought the house furnished, seeing as he couldn’t exactly haul his bed onto the train with him, or send it through the mail with the rest of his belongings. And, uh, the other half of his furniture had been slightly improvised. Before this house, his residence in the desert hadn’t been the most luxurious either.

He’s worried about the condition of everything inside. Frightened, even. The exterior of the house was decrepit enough; he does  _ not _ want to know what the inside’s going to be like. Gathering his wits, he pushes the door open.

The condition of the interior… isn’t good. But it could’ve been a lot worse. A cloying layer of dust covers just about everything, but he can’t see or smell any mold anywhere. He’s in what looks like a living room, which is the proud owner of exactly one couch. There’s a small, open, tile kitchen off to the right, and two closed doors to the left. Dropping his bags down and closing the door, he makes to investigate the room behind the first closed door. It ends up just being a bathroom.

He turns the handle to the second door. It creaks open, revealing a bedroom. The bedroom is simple enough, featuring a single-bed, a nightstand, and a built-in closet. Keith eyes the bed over, seriously doubting he’ll be using those grimey bedsheets anytime soon. He walks over to the bed to pull them back and,  _ nope, nevermind, not using the bed at all _ , because it’s got a large, rodent-shaped hole chewed right in the middle. Speed walking out of the room, he closes the door tight behind him. That’s an issue for tomorrow. All he wants to do now is take a nap.

After locating a broom and vacuum in the closet and pretty much attacking the house with them, it finally seems clean enough to get some decent rest in. Keith’s made sure to check the couch for rodent nests as well, but to his luck, there’s nothing. 

Grabbing some of the blankets he brought along with him, he makes himself comfortable on the couch and settles in for a rest. Through the useless translucent curtains covering the living room windows (which are clearly only there for decoration), he sees the sun has partially sunk past the horizon. It casts the house in vibrant yellows and oranges, which looks kinda odd against the green walls. Keith turns over and closes his eyes. The house isn’t so bad. He’ll get used to this place.

 

❈

 

Keith wakes to creaking floorboards. Opening his eyes, he sees it’s pitch black out. He must’ve slept through the evening. He holds his breath for a moment, in which silence reigns, but the creaking starts up again. It’s muffled, but sounds remarkably similar to footsteps. Keith, unbidden, recalls what the girl at the train station had been saying about ghosts and how the house was supposedly haunted.  _ That’s stupid _ , he tells himself, and clears his mind of thoughts about the paranormal. Someone was  _ somewhere _ in his house, and was clearly a very real threat.

Listening closely again, he locates the footfalls as actually being outside of the house, not in.

_ They must be on the front porch _ , his mind supplies. Getting up as quietly as he can, Keith grabs the knife he keeps on his person, and eases his way towards the front door. Peeking out the window next to it, he gets a glance at the trespasser. Their form is little more than a silhouette in the dark of the night, but they appear formidable enough, draped in a large…  _ something _ . Maybe a cloak of sorts.

Keith watches as they finger paint something on the outside wall using something in their hand. He’s absolutely itching to go take this person on, but his rational side, telling Keith to wait, wins out for once. The stranger finishes whatever it is they were doing, and with a swish of what  _ must _ be a cloak, and they take off. Keith throws open his door, ready to spring, but no one’s there.

“Speedy fucker,” Keith says to himself, before inspecting what was scrawled on the side of his house. He can’t make it out in the dark, so he goes back inside to get a flashlight before returning.

In mud,  _ ‘GO AWAY’ _ is written. It’s so bizarre that Keith just ends up staring at it for a moment in bewilderment. It’s such a tame thing, not even threatening any injury.

“‘Go away?’” Keith turns and yells out into the night. “I only just got here!”


	2. Making a Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith goes grocery shopping and... *gasp* uncovers a mystery?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to Sophie for beta-ing this chapter! <3

After that fiasco, Keith had hesitantly gone back inside, and after making sure all the doors and windows were locked up tight, tried to get some rest. It was choppy though, and he didn’t think he slept more than an hour after that, which made Keith happy he had that extended nap earlier. What else could he do about his situation, though? Go to the police and say, “Hey, I’m new around here, but you know that disgusting house in the swamp everyone thinks is haunted? Yeah, I live there. And, someone’s writing on my walls in mud and I just don’t like that.” Uh-huh, perfect first impression with the local authorities.

As the day broke and morning rolled around, Keith gave up on sleeping and tried to move a few more of his things in (not like there was much to begin with). He wiped down any areas he might’ve missed, put away some cutlery, set up the measly but reliable radio he’s had for years on the kitchen counter, and hung his favourite red jacket on the coat hanger near the door.

Keith still hasn’t touched the bedroom, not after the, er, surprise in the bed, but he decides he should at least get the mattress out of there so he can clean that room too. After double-checking that nothing is _currently_ living in it, he hauls the mattress down to the curb, hoping a garbage truck will even bother to come out this far.

He gets the rest of the bedroom cleaned up, and moves his few articles of clothing into the closet. Stepping back out into the living room, he looks around. It’s finally seeming a little more homey, and Keith can’t help but feel a little proud of himself. It’s no home-renovation TV show’s results, but it’s something.

Around noon, his grumbling stomach reminds him that he still hasn’t had breakfast, and he decides to head out. Keith swears he passed a convenience store not to far away from here while on his initial ride over in the “taxi”. He didn’t really bring much food with him, and checking the fridge confirms this.

_What the hell,_  he thinks, _a walk to the convenience store won’t hurt._

The convenience store ends up being far enough away from the end of the swamp to not be considered in it, but also close enough to be slightly isolated from the rest of the small town. The walk to the store was about twenty-five minutes, not so bad. However, the distance from the store to town was probably about another half hour. Keith was really gonna need to invest in a bike.

The convenience store itself is quaint, small but professional looking. The door makes a _ding_ noise as he enters, and the cashier (with shockingly ginger hair) calls out in greeting. The inside of the store is simple: multiple shelves filled with generic produce, along with other essential food products like eggs, milk, bottled water, etcetera. Quite a bit more junk food, some easy-made food like mac and cheese, and shelves for basic toiletries. It’s not much, but it’s enough for his second day. Keith could go into town later for more grocery store-esc items.

“New around here?” the cashier asks as he rings up Keith’s purchases. Keith can’t help but notice his flamboyant moustache.

“Yeah,” Keith answers. He doesn’t let on any more than that in hopes to avoid more judgement about his choice of residence.

“Is it that place down in the swamp?” he guesses perfectly on the first try.

“...No,” Keith lies, poorly.

“I knew a family that used to live out there,” the cashier continues on anyways, not bothering to call Keith out. “They were a charming bunch.”

This catches Keith’s attention. “Really?”

He makes a sad little smile and continues to bag Keith’s items. “Really. The mother brought the kids by here sometimes, when they visited that cottage every once and awhile.”

“What happened to them?” Keith can’t help but ask.

The cashier shook his head. “Nobody’s sure. A year or so ago, I watched one of the boys walk by all alone. The youngest, I think. He looked filthy and exhausted. I tried to call him in, but he took off towards the house.” He finishes his task, and hands Keith the bags.

“That’s… sad,” Keith supplies.

“Mhm,” the man agrees. “I contacted the authorities, but when they searched the area, they didn’t find him. They couldn’t find his family either. They’ve all been pronounced missing ever since.”

“Oh. Well.”

“I apologize,” the cashier says, “that probably wasn’t the best small talk. I just haven’t seen anyone down there in a while and it got me thinking. How is the old place?”

“It’s not as beat down as it looks,” Keith answers. “I like it fine so far.”

“That’s good,” the older man smiles. “Take good care of it, eh?”

“Sure,” Keith answers. He waves goodbye to the cashier, and heads for home. He can’t help but think of ghosts again after hearing _that_ tale. Keith’s no believer in paranormal things, but it seems to make almost too much sense. A boy runs to some old house he used to visit with his family for whatever reason, passes away, and now haunts said residence, keeping everyone else away. But it definitely hadn’t been some spirit Keith saw outside his house last night. Maybe the boy had survived and grown up?

_No, that’s ridiculous_ , Keith thinks, _who could survive that long alone in some swamp?_ This person clearly hadn’t been living _in_ the house, since it had been so dusty. But then _who_ had been on Keith’s front porch at fuck-o’clock in the morning? He just couldn’t figure it out.

By now, he’s walking up the dirt driveway to his house when he notices more mud writing smeared on the side of his house.

“Oh, c’mon,” he says, jogging up to the house, refraining from running as to not drop all his groceries. This time, the vandal has written ‘ _I’M SERIOUS!! GET OUT OF HERE!’_

“Really.” This one’s even less threatening than the first! God forbid the next message uses a swear word. Sighing, Keith unlocks his door and puts away his groceries. Apparently living here may be a bit of a… different hassle than he expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> getting to describe Coran's mustache as 'flamboyant' brings me lots of joy


	3. Catching Flies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A turn of events has Keith _hopping_ mad.
> 
> Hehe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, a thousand thanks to the lovely Sophie! <33333
> 
> School starts up soon, so I wanted to get this chapter out before things get hectic.

Despite the childish nature of the messages, Keith couldn’t help but feel a _little_ paranoid. The writer had created both warnings while Keith had been absent or asleep, which meant they were keeping watch of him, at least long enough to know when they could catch Keith unawares. That thought was what made him triple-check that all the windows and doors were shut and firmly locked before starting lunch. It was something simple: a peanut butter and jam sandwich, since he didn’t exactly have a lot of options. Tomorrow, he should walk all the way into town and buy a bicycle or something to make trips around easier.

Keith frowned at this. He didn’t want to leave the house to whatever person decided that decorating a stranger’s walls via mud was a good idea, but what choice did he have? He couldn’t just put his entire life on hold because of something like this. He’d practically lived in his old place out in the desert for _years_ , he could get through a bit of whatever this was.

_It’s probably just some kids trying to be funny_ _,_ he reasons with himself. It _was_ local legend that the place was haunted, apparently. Of course some troublemaker and their group of friends would try something “funny”. Small town, right? What else is there to do?

He had solidly reassured himself, but Keith couldn’t help but feel like someone was watching him. He looks to the useless blinds anxiously, wishing that they provided better coverage.

 

❈

 

Keith’s second sleep in the house had gone unperturbed, without any havoc or drama. The first thing he had done when he awoke was to check his front porch, and when he found nothing, search the rest of the house’s exterior, which yielded the same results. Maybe the prankster had finally given up on tormenting Keith.

But when he entered the house again, he heard a croaking noise he’d failed to notice when he’d first ran out to give the house a once-over. Listening intently, Keith pinpoints the noise to the bedroom.

_Great, not this again,_ he thinks to himself. Another animal probably got in. Maybe whatever rodent was living in that old mattress has decided to come back.

Opening the door, he sure as hell doesn’t expect _hundreds_ of beady eyes to be staring back at him. The room was _filled_ with frogs, hardly any floorspace to be seen. They cover the old bed frame, the nightstand, the windowsill, _everything._

If you were a frog who’s been stuck in a cramped room for God knows how long, and someone opens a door, what’s the first thing you’re gonna do? Leave. The first thing you’re gonna do is leave. So, as Keith stands there, gaping while holding the door open, of course a veritable flow of amphibians comes pouring through.

“What the—!” Keith exclaims, hopping back as to not get caught up in the mass movement of frogs, while also trying not to crush any of them. “How did you get _in_ here?” He looks back into the bedroom, which has won the _Most Cursed Room in the House Award_ by a long shot, and notices the window is ajar.

_“How?”_ he yells out, almost in agony, _“how_ did you open that window?”

Finally jumping into action, Keith throws the front door open as well, but it seems that most his unsuspected guests are happy to hang out in the kitchen, living room and _fuck, no,_ right where he sleeps: the couch. He’ll have to wash it _again_ _._ Very few frogs hop out the front door.

“Shit,” Keith groans, standing in the middle of his house, amidst all the frogs.

Keith spends the rest of the morning clearing out frogs, picking up as many as he can carry at once and placing them back out into the swamp. For all his anger towards them, he refuses to be violent with the frogs. It’s not like they knew what they were doing, after all.

Removing all the frogs only took him, y’know, a _few_ hours, considering he also had to hunt them all down. At least he was finding ways to spend his time.

After cleaning the couch of whatever residue the frogs might’ve left behind, Keith sits down and has a serious debate on whether or not to just board up the bedroom window. Maybe just close off the entire bedroom itself.

Keith then contemplates how in the sweet hell the frogs had even gotten in there. Clearly there had been an open window involved, but there’s no way he left that window open. The house had been on complete lockdown while he was asleep, and even if he _had_ missed locking a window, he never remembered opening it, let alone opening it all the way. Obviously, frogs can’t open heavy windows (how high would they even have to jump to get on the windowsill in the first place?), which left one option. The person writing on his walls has graduated from laughable threats to _breaking and entering_.

_Fuck._ He couldn’t just let someone get away with that, could he? Dumping frogs in his room was one thing, but what would they do next? Keith’s pulse sped up a bit as his mind careened into more life-threatening ideas. Yeah, no. He wasn’t gonna sit around and let some _weirdo_ wander to and fro from his house as they pleased.

Keith decides he'll wait for night to fall, and for the intruder to come back. _I_ do _have a knife,_ he thinks to himself, smirking, and while he doesn't _exactly_ plan on using it, just brandishing can be intimidating enough.

 

❈

 

With the help of some caffeinated beverages, Keith sits on his couch with all the lights off, waiting for the intruder to return. Despite how hard Keith was listening, only a slight jimmying noise and _swish_ gave their entrance away. Keith, as quietly as he can, slowly approaches the closed bedroom door, and leans up against the wall. He can hear the soft shuffling of a person on the other side, and then faintly:

“Blue? Psst, Blue! Where are you?”

_Blue?_ Keith questions. What was this person looking for? Were there two intruders? He grips his knife tighter.

“This isn’t funny!” the stranger whispers again. “I can’t just—! That guy is _sleeping_ in there and I can’t— Ugh!” The light footfalls approach the door, and the doorknob jiggles.

_Sleeping,_ Keith thinks to himself. _Yeah, okay._

The door creaks open, and before the intruder can do anything, Keith’s practically thrown himself at them, pinning them to the floor. They let out a gasp as they hit the ground, and blink up at where Keith’s leaning over them, effectively pinning them. It’s still dark, but the moon is bright tonight, and by the light of the open window, Keith can make out the masculine features of the trespasser’s face.

The stranger lets out a willowy breath of air before gasping it back in and trying to squirm out from under Keith. The appearance of the knife closer to his face dissuades him, though.

“What the fuck are you doing in my house?” Keith demands, _so_ far past asking nicely. The other man just keeps gaping at the knife, then Keith’s face, then the knife again.

“I don’t…” he responds before his voice gives out. He starts squirming again. “Get off, get off get off get _off of me!”_

“Like hell!” Keith says, only holding him down harder. “ _You’re_ the fucker who keeps messing with my house! You’re actively trespassing! Why should I let you up?”

The man hasn’t stopped trying to escape Keith’s grasp, to the point where he’s practically vibrating out of his skin. Keith’s only response is to continue pinning him, until he notices the tears making their way down the intruder’s face.

“Please,” he sobs, “get off.”

Keith can’t help his open bewilderment. This guy could’ve been coming in to slit his _throat._ But here he is, writhing on the floor, _crying._ Keith, oddly enough, _pities_ him.

“I swear to god, if you try any shit I _will_ skewer you.”

“No, I promise, I won’t.” Keith lets him up, and the other man quickly scrambles away, not standing up. Keith’s quick to follow his movements, but all the intruder does is huddle against the bed frame.

“Now, answer my question. What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing!” The other snaps back, wiping at his face, no longer crying.

“...What?”

The intruder huffs at him. “These are _my_ marshes, I’ll have you know!”

Keith furrows his eyebrows. “So what, is this house included in that?”

“Yes!” The stranger crosses his arms.

“Clearly it’s not. I bought it. I moved in the other day. I own it. _Legally.”_

“Yeah, well,” the other flounders for words. “I was here first, so too bad!”

“What do you _mean?”_ Keith all but shouts, exasperated.

“This house was mine once, y’know,” he changes topic again.

“That doesn’t—! I live here _now!_ You don’t! Get your head out of the clouds!”

“You _can’t_ be here,” the intruder stresses again. “You can’t. Not you, not anyone else.”

Keith growls. “Ugh, listen, you’re crazy. I don’t give a shit who used to live here, because I live here now. This is _my_ house, and I have every right to call the police right the fuck now. _Get out.”_

The intruder stands with a huff. “Fine! Fine, I’ll leave. But you can’t stay here either!” He points an accusatory finger at Keith. “You better be out of here by tomorrow, or else!”

Keith scoffs. “You have four seconds to leave before I call the cops.” The stranger makes a sound of frustration but swiftly drops back out the bedroom window regardless. Keith slams it shut behind him, locking it _again_. He was definitely gonna have to board it up.

He makes his way back to the couch and lays down, ready to pass out. The quiet lasts about three seconds before there’s a knock at his door.

“Oh, my God,” Keith says, hauling himself out of bed and storming over to the door to hurl it open. _“What?”_ he barks at the returning man.

“Actually, I uh, lost something in here yesterday.” He shuffles awkwardly on his feet.

“Yeah, when you broke in to put all those damn frogs in my house?”

The other sticks up his nose. “Are you gonna let me get it or not? I could always let myself in later.”

Keith pinches the bridge of his nose. “Christ, fine. Be fast.”

He enters the house, and stands very still in the living room. Is he listening for something? Right before Keith can open his mouth and call this man out for being delusional, he crosses into the kitchen and throws open a cupboard, pulling out _another_ frog.

“Got her. Thanks,” he says, and leaves. Again. Keith locks the door behind him, and all but collapses onto the couch, putting his head in his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is it just me or are italics really weird looking on ao3? it's a bit better when on the mobile browser, but off it...
> 
> i need italics like i need water but goddamn do they look ugly here


	4. Hindsight is 20/20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith gets better acquainted with that eccentric man that works at the cornerstone down the street, and a certain someone-else gets re-acquainted with vandalism.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> KISSES TO SOPHIE!!! What a lovely friend & beta. <3

Keith had thought that after last night’s confrontation, whoever the fuck it was that was living in the marshes would leave him alone. He certainly didn’t believe his threat of “you better be out of here by tomorrow, or else”, or pretty much anything else he’d claimed… although, the fact that the stranger managed to get _that_ many frogs in his house was something else.

As of the moment, Keith vacantly stares at the stove from where he sits at the kitchen island. There was nothing going on, and, as someone who _hates_ being inactive, Keith doesn’t know how much longer he could just sit around in the swamp. He had moved up here for a job, yes, but his first day wouldn’t be starting for a good while.

He _had_ intended to get a temporary job during this wait, though. Maybe dusting off his old resume and going job hunting wouldn’t be a bad way to spend the day. He thinks back to the little gas station-corner store hybrid he had travelled to previously. It had seemed like only that moustached man worked there, maybe he could use a helping (paid) hand. Throwing his resume into a backpack, Keith opens the door to begin his trek down to the store, but hesitates in the doorway. He turns on his heel, grabs a sticky-note from a drawer, and leaves a message for his frequent and unwanted visitor on the bedroom window. ‘ _Don’t even think about it’_ , it reads. He stands back and looks at his work, giving his head a firm nod.

❈

Keith was pushes open the door the convenience store, which tings cheerily above him.

“Hello!” The same ginger man as before, with the silly moustache, calls out to him. Keith looks around the store, and once again, notes that they are the only people present.

“Hi,” Keith responds.

“You again! How’s are you? How’ve things been in the ol’ place?”

“Uh,” Keith hesitates. “Interesting.”

The cashier smiles, not unkindly. “I’m sure,” he chuckles. “So, here to pick up some more things?”

“No, I was actually hoping to apply. For a job.” The older man perks up at this.

“Really? It’s been awhile since I’ve had company working here.” Keith smiles bashfully at the man’s genuine excitement.

“I brought my resume,” he says, pulling it out of the bag he had brought with himself. It’s briefly leafed through before being pushed back to Keith, and he was met with the cashier’s outstretched hand.

“Well Keith, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Coran.”

Keith takes his hand with a grin. “Nice to meet you too.”

Coran spends the rest of the afternoon showing Keith around. Luckily enough, Keith has already worked a few odd jobs at supermarkets and gas stations, so not a lot of this job’s aspects are new to him. Coran had begrudgingly admitted, to just about no one’s surprise, that he didn’t really get too much business, but enough to keep the store running. He apparently really loved to talk, and just an hour in, Keith learns Coran’s entire life story. He somehow was (or is? Keith had kinda stopped paying attention) tied to some sort of royal family, leaving him financially very well off. The store was more of a pass-time than a means of getting by.

“So, speaking of money,” Coran segways, “how much is it you’re looking to be payed?”

“Uh… minimum wage, at least?”

Coran nods along, looking deep in thought. “And the hours you can work?”

Keith scratches the back of his neck anxiously. “I’m not really sure. My schedule’s gonna be pretty hectic once my full-time job gets started.”

“Hm.” Coran ponders this. He turns to face Keith, and puts a hand on his shoulder. “Listen, I have enough money to go around, and the ol’ place doesn’t _really_ require two people running it. How about you drop by whenever you can, I’ll pay you the hours you work. How’s that sound?”

Coran says that exceedingly casually, like he hasn’t just offered Keith one of the best jobs on the entire earth. “That sounds great,” Keith responds. “I can definitely do it.”

Coran gives Keith his personal schedule, so he’d know when the shop would be closed and he couldn't come into work, his phone number for contacting him, and a set of keys. After that, Keith spends the rest of the day doing odd jobs around the store, and helping the one or two customers that come in every hour or so. Before going home, he makes a full trip into town to purchase a red bicycle.

It’s sunset by the time he got back home; the bright star tinting the world a golden-orange.

Hindsight is 20/20. He should’ve known better than to have left his house that morning.

As he rides up his driveway, he almost stumbles off his bike halfway up.

“No, no, no, no,” he chants, standing in front of what was _probably_ his house. Giant plant growth covers it on all sides: towering grasses, snaking vines, and hearty bushes. It’s impossible to see past the all the greenery.

What the fuck was this? This couldn’t— what kind of natural phenomena is _this?_ Was this the doing of that, that _guy?_ Keith _prays_ his building is still standing under all the plants. Pushing through the reeds at the front, he makes his way to the front porch and through the door, key shaking in his hands.

“God, please be intact, _please_ _.”_ Unlocking the door, Keith pushes it open. The reeds have covered up all his windows, so he’s forced to use the flashlight on his phone to see through the artificial darkness. After turning it on, he sees mud all over the flooring, which looks dried on. Luckily the mud’s _just_ on the floors, but this small relief is overshadowed by the sound of croaking, once again coming from the bedroom.

_Not this again,_ he thinks to himself. He can’t go around and check the bedroom window from the outside, so the only way to see what’s happened is to open the bedroom door. Very, very slowly, he pulls it a sliver open, and to his endless relief, there is only one frog in the room, sitting on the middle of the old bed frame.

Pushing open the door the rest of the way, Keith drops the bags he had brought back from his day out, and walks to the edge of the bedframe before dropping to his knees in front of it.

“What the _fuck_ is happening,” he whispers, voice shaking, almost as if speaking to the frog. Upset and angry and _tired_ , something in Keith snaps, and he marches out of the house, only stopping once he’s in the middle of the driveway.

“What do you want from me?” he screams out into the marshes around him. “What did I ever do to you?” A movement to his right catches his eye, and he turns to see a figure appear from almost nowhere.

It’s the same man from the night before, but Keith can actually make out his finer details in the daylight. His attire is _strangely_ casual, considering the large grass cloak he’s draped himself in: a gray and blue baseball long sleeve, and worn jeans and sneakers. He’s tan, complexion is notably darker than Keith’s.

He stands there, almost as if contesting Keith. His face is set in a scowl, hands clenched to fists at his sides.

“I told you,” he says, “to leave.”  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh shittttd B!!! shit's gonna get real!!!!
> 
> also i promise we'll get more of The Boy in the next chap... sry for blueballing you guys on lance content


	5. Rock, Paper, Scissors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little altercation and a little magic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time after time, thank you to Sophie! <3

_ I told you to leave, I told you to leave, I told you to leave… _ It echos around in Keith’s head. The man in front of Keith takes in a breath.

“I told you to leave,” he repeats, seemingly holding back a bout of anger. “I thought that when you left this morning, you listened, but  _ no _ , you hadn’t taken any of your things with you!”

Keith stares at him, dumbfounded. The other takes this as an invitation to carry on.

“Why won’t you listen to me?” he yells, frustration evident in his hand gestures. “Why are you so— so  _ stubborn! _ Everyone leaves, why won’t you?” Here, he stops and waits. Keith realizes he’s expecting a response to his question.

“Why— why won’t I leave?”

The man crosses his arms. “That’s what I asked.”

At the stranger’s tone, a switch in Keith’s brain flicks back on. He unfreezes, and feels a burning rush of anger pierce through him. He’s just so,  _ so _ fed up.

“I— you— you expect me to just  _ leave? _ I get here and the town’s a dump. I get to my new house, and it’s a dump. I clean it up, try to settle in. I’m trying my hardest here, okay? I’m having a difficult enough time without  _ you _ , you breaking into my house, graffiting my walls,  _ some-fucking-how _ putting a hundred frogs in my bedroom, and now  _ this!” _ He throws an arm back towards his house in a rather unhinged gesture. “What the fuck is your issue?”

After that outburst, Keith snaps his mouth shut. He’s breathing heavily, and he doesn’t think he’s talked that much in one go his whole life. He doesn’t know how he expects the stranger to react, but his face looks shocked. Maybe even guilty.

“I don’t know who, or what you are,” he finds himself saying, almost as if to himself. A missing person, a ghost, maybe he’s just losing his mind. How long has he practically isolated himself by this point in his life? Maybe his brain is just making shit up now. “Just,  _ you _ leave  _ me _ alone. Fuck.”

The stranger remains unresponsive to Keith’s outburst, apparently frozen where he stands, like he doesn’t know what to do with himself. He appears to have recognized the anguish in Keith’s voice, in turn making him immensely less confrontational.

“I… I don’t…” the stranger breaths out before swallowing sharply. “I made you…  _ that  _ upset?”

“Of course you did. You’ve broken into my house.  _ Twice _ . I thought you were going to kill me.

“Kill you?” he squeaks, paling.

“ _ Yes.” _

“I— I didn’t… That’s not what I meant to do.” He visibly shakes his head clear. “But you can’t stay here. You don’t understand.”

“Yeah, and I don’t think I ever will,” Keith counters, “but I’m  _ not _ leaving. So whatever your issue is, you’ll just have to deal with it.”

“ _ No!” _ The stranger’s back to yelling, but this time he’s off the offence, fully defensive in tone and body language. “I can’t let you. I’m… I have to keep an eye on something, and that involves you not being here. No one can be here.”

“It’s not like I can be anywhere else,” Keith says, a snarl written across his features.

“You can’t leave, but you can’t stay.” He sighs. “Alright, I say we settle this the old-fashioned way.”

“Which is?” Keith asks skeptically. Knowing this guy, it’s probably going to be some weird blood pact, or he’s gonna demand Keith’s first born child, or—

“Rock-paper-scissors.”

“What?” Keith splutters. “Absolutely not.”

The other deflates. “Well, it was worth a shot. I guess we’ll have to compromise.” He wrinkles his nose at the word, but Keith nods along, so he continues on. “You can live here, in the house, but you  _ cannot _ go exploring the swamp.”

“I didn’t want to anyways.”

“You can’t bring anyone over,” the stranger continues on. Keith furrows his brows at this. Keith may not know anyone in town, and he may not intend to, but who’s to say he won’t have company in the future?

“Excuse me? It’s my house. Why do you get to control who comes over?”

“Fine!” He crosses his arms. “But no exploring the swamps with whoever you bring over!”

“Alright, I get it! No exploring the swamp. With anyone.”

“Or anything!”

Keith rolls his eyes. “ _ Or anything _ .” The other’s shoulders sag in relief.

“Okay. Thank you,” he adds, almost uncharacteristically. “I promise to leave you alone.”

“I promise to leave you alone too,” Keith repeats. The stranger just kinda stands there, awkwardly looking at Keith. “Goodnight?” Keith tries.

“Uh. Goodnight,” the stranger returns, spinning on heel and swiftly trotting away before the reeds of the marsh swallow his form.

“What the hell,” he mutters, before pushing past the plants bordering his house and going inside. He keeps his boots on since the floors are all muddy anyways. He wholeheartedly  _ cannot _ be bothered to clean them, and just crashes on his couch after doing the bare minimum to get ready for bed. He’ll deal with it in the morning.

 

❈

 

Turns out, when he wakes up in the morning, there’s… nothing to be dealt with. Blinking a groggy eye open, Keith notes that the floors are clean and the plants are gone, as he can actually see out his windows again.

_ What…? _ He knows for a fact that he did not clean anything up, which means the swamp-dweller is must’ve cleaned up for him. Cutting away the plants is one thing, but the mud  _ inside _ his house…

Keith haphazardly throws on a hoodie, already fully intending to break the  _ no-going-through-the-swamp _ rule just to give this dude a piece of his mind. As he throws open the front door, however, the stranger’s already there, sitting on his porch with a frog in hand. He turns as he hears the door open.

“Oh, hey, there you are! I just, uh, I cleared up everything I did last night. I felt bad about it.”

Keith’s angry grip on his hoodie loosens, causing it to slip a little off his right shoulder. “Oh. But that— that doesn’t mean you can just break into my house,  _ again _ , to do it, though!”

“No, no, I didn’t!” The man raises his hands in surrender, not before placing the frog on his lap though.

“Then how did you get all the mud out?”

“I, uh… I don’t think you’d believe me if I told you.”

“I’d believe you if you told me you broke in, because you did.”

“Not this time!” He stands (not before taking a moment to get the frog safely off his lap) up in outrage. “Listen, just, ugh! Fine, I’ll show you.” Letting out a frustrated breath, his eyes slip closed. He seems to calm himself before he slowly raises a hand. Keith is very unimpressed for a moment, but out the corner of his eye he notices some sort of movement. He watches as early morning condensation lifts off of some nearby plants, collects into a small orb of water no larger than a baseball, and then slowly levitates over to float in front of his face. He’s sure he goes cross-eyed looking at it.

“My powers aren’t limited to water,” he elaborates. “I can pick up dirt too. It’s pretty easy to just slide it out from under your door.” He looks smug.

“What even  _ are _ you?” Keith demands, turning to face him. It must be a sight to behold, Keith barefoot in his baggy pajamas, his hoodie almost half fallen off, bedhead atrocious, turning and commanding answers from this stranger.

“I’m Lance,” he answers, as if it’s as simple as that. Keith’s bewilderment must’ve leaked onto his face, because the stranger— Lance, starts to laugh at him.

“I’m sorry!” he wheezes, “I’m sorry, just,  _ your face,  _ and then I was looking at it through the water and it was all distorted…” he breaks out into another fit of laughter, but none of it’s mean-spirited. Keith even finds himself resisting the urge to chuckle along, simply smiling at this person who’s terrorized him with the equivalent of childish pranks for the past few days. Jesus, his life’s taken a turn.

After Lance is done laughing it leaves a silence, one that’s not  _ too  _ uncomfortable. Lance is still smiling, but it’s softer now.

“This is the most I’ve talked with someone in months,” he admits.

“Months?” Keith questions. A splash of regret crosses Lance’s face, and the little ball of water drops to the ground with a splatter.

“I, uh, have to go,” he says hurriedly, almost forgetting the frog he was toting around as he turns to leave. Keith watches him scutter away, not pressing the matter. He thinks about the story Coran told him, and then goes back inside to get dressed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey b-b-b-b-broskis, how goes it?  
> I'm really excited to get this chapter "out of the way"- I can finally get to the more fluffy stuff ehehehe ;))
> 
>  
> 
> Side note, does anyone know how to indent (or 'tab') paragraphs on AO3? I cannot, for the _life of me,_ figure that out.


	6. A Table for Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It wouldn't be the beginning notes without me thanking my lovely beta, Sophie! Cheers. <3

It’s a slow day at Coran’s; only a few stragglers have come through. As of the moment, Keith sits next to Coran behind the cash register, taking an impromptu break. No one’s been in the store for the past hour, so Coran doesn’t question him. The sun that filters in through the window causes the isles to cast prominent shadows on the floor.

“So, Coran,” Keith begins cautiously, “about that story you were telling the other day…”

Coran hums back in response, preoccupied with checking the expiry date on a can of juice.

“Have you seen that guy around since?”

“The boy, you mean?” Coran looks up at Keith. “No. The day he vanished into the swamp was the last I saw of him. Or anyone, for the matter. Nobody but discouraged buyers have been in and out of there since you.”

“Do you think it’s possible that he survived out there?”

“For a few days, I suppose, assuming he didn’t drown in one of those bogs. Of course, he probably would’ve starved, or froze to death.” He put down the can he was examining, and turned to look at Keith. “This is an awfully morbid subject, Keith.”

“Um, yeah. Sorry.” Keith looks away. He was probably freaking Coran out; it would be better to drop the subject all together.

Silence reigns for a bit, until Coran asks: “Has something been bothering you lately?”

Keith looks back up at him. “Uh… no. Not really.” But of course, Keith is an awful liar and Coran picks up on his fib, smiling pitifully at him past his large orange mustache.

“I’m sure whatever heebie-jeebies you have will go away in a while. I know there’s a lot of superstitions around that house of yours, but that’s all they are. Ghost stories.” Keith nods. Coran, thankfully, was none the wiser to the truth about what was really going on. Then again, how could he be? Keith didn’t even know what to think of it himself.

“To take your mind off things,” Coran starts, “how about you go take all of that juice out of freezers four and five? I think they’re a little, uh, expired.”

 

❈

 

By the time Keith got home, it was about four or five o’clock in the evening. He rolled down his driveway, and kicked up the bike stand in front of the porch. Upon entering his doorway, he was pleased to see the inside of the house was undisturbed. At least Lance was keeping to his side of the deal. Starting up dinner, he throws some chicken he’d bought the other day into a pan and goes about frying it. It had just begun whitening when he notices some movement outside his window.

Peering out, he sees… Lance? He opens the window, and calls out it. “What are you doing out there?” Lance, who clearly hadn’t noticed Keith’s return home, jumps, and lowers his previously raised hands.

“I’m, uh…” He groans. “Listen, it was  _ suppose d _ to be a surprise!”

“What was?” Keith says, looking about. He realizes that his “backyard”, which had previously been mushy swampland like the rest of the area (he seriously had no idea how this house hadn’t sunk into the ground yet), was now solid ground that Lance was standing on with ease. There were flower beds enclosed by rocks, divided by a little stone path down the middle. Saying it housed flowers was a bit generous, though. Most of the plants that were growing looked like tall grasses.

“It’s a garden,” Lance says, blushing and turning away. “I’m not exactly sure where the stone path is gonna lead to, though. I was trying to figure that out before you got back.”

“Why did you make me a  _ garden? ” _ Keith asks, incredulous.

“I!” Lance bristles, searching for words. “I still feel bad about what I did, okay? I didn’t mean to stress you out like that. And it’s not like I can skip into town and buy you an apology card, so this is the best I can do. I can destroy it if you don’t want it.” He raises an arm.

“No!” Keith yells. He sure as hell wasn’t going to tell Lance to destroy whatever form of peacekeeping this was. “It’s fine, I like it. I was just confused.”

“Sure,” Lance says, sounding skeptical, and drops his arm. They end up making awkward eye contact, neither knowing what to say. Lance is in the same attire as the last times he’s seen him, and Keith is wondering how laundry works for Lance when he notices beady eyes staring at him from Lance’s left shoulder.

“You have a frog on your shoulder,” Keith comments, stating the obvious.

“Yeah, what about it?” Lance tips his nose up defiantly.

“Not a lot of people do that. Putting frogs on their shoulders.”

“Well, where else would I put her when I walk around?”

“What, do you take it everywhere you go?”

“ _ Her,  _ and yes, I do. Blue gets lonely when I leave her at home!” Lance is up in Keith’s face by this point, only the window screen coming between them.

“You named her. There’s, like, billions of frogs in this swamp. How do you know that it’s always the same one?”

“Because—” Lance looks like he’s about to make an informed retort, but clicks his mouth shut at the last second. “Because I do!”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“ _ You’re _ ridiculous!”

Keith chuckles at his comeback, and Lance flushes tomato red. “That’s it, I’m leaving!” he says, turning to stomp back into the swamp.

Lance starts to take off, and Keith’s tempted to call him back, but doesn’t. He huffs out a sigh, and on the inhale he smells something smokey. Turning back to his chicken, Keith sees it’s on it’s way to burning. He curses, and goes back to making, or  _ fixing  _ dinner.

Lance is really something else. He seems to be sticking nearby for whatever reason, despite running off at the last second. And… running off to where, exactly? The more Keith thought about it, the more confused he became. He always acted like he had somewhere to go back to, but Keith’s house was the only building in the swamp. Unless there was another that had been built unofficially? He replayed the conversation they had moments ago. Lance had said that his frog didn’t like it when he left it at  _ home _ . Or maybe he said  _ alone _ , and Keith misheard? He wasn’t sure.

If Lance really is that boy that Coran had seen, he’d  _ have _ to have somewhere to live in order to survive this long. It clearly wasn’t Keith’s house, as it had been completely abandoned. So, somewhere further back in the swamp perhaps? No, that didn’t make sense either. There was no way anyone could build something out there with no stable ground; this shack was pushing it enough as is.

Maybe Lance really was a ghost, and he took off to whatever netherworld he came from whenever Keith showed up. He’s apparently capable of levitating water and manipulating the very ground beneath them, but those weren’t any ghostly actions he’d heard of before. Regardless of whatever Lance was, he continued to be an enigma.

 

❈

 

As neighbors go, Keith… probably could’ve asked for better. Something akin to a small suburban family, or maybe an elderly neighbor that keeps to themselves. But, Keith has Lance, a man who carries frogs around with himself, and does things like making flower gardens for strangers in his spare time. A garden, which, has grown even more impressive overnight. Keith doesn’t know if he’s complaining or not.

In the pale morning light, dressed again in his PJs and a sweater, Keith’s walking out in the garden. The stone path Lance had been working on now twists from the side of the driveway out to the back. The garden is overflowing with plants typical to the marshy area. They all look somewhat bizarre, but almost in an enchanting way.  A majority of them grow abnormally tall, and Keith almost feels like the garden is swallowing him. He’s not sure what’s okay to touch and what’s not, so he keeps his arms close to his body.

As the trail reaches the back wall of his house, it widens out into a semi-circle, the flat edge against the wall. Two cheap-looking white plastic chairs sit in it. One has a broken leg, and is only upright via some rocks propped under it.

_ Where did these come from? _

Keith’s still looking over the new, ah, sitting area, when he feels the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Someone’s watching him. Looking over his shoulder, he sees Lance hovering nearby, poorly hidden in the plants, parting them with his hands so he can see through. As they make eye contact, he flushes red and lets go of them. Keith thinks he hears a squeak from him too, but he’s not sure.

“Listen, Lance,” Keith sighs, “if you want to come talk to me, just do it. Stop stalking me.”

“I wasn’t stalking you!” There’s rustling, and Lance pops out from the gardens. “I just wanted to make sure you, uh, liked it.”

“Liked the garden?” Keith ponders. Lance nods and looks away. “Yeah, I like it. It’s better than just the plain swamp.”

Lance perks back up at the praise, confidence coming back. “Uh, yeah, I hope it is. It took a lot of energy to make.”

Keith’s curiosity (which is never sated nowadays) crops back up. “What do you mean?”

Lance freezes, and looks like he’s about to run. “I— uh, I shouldn't have shown you that trick the other day. I can’t really talk about it.”

Keith just barely stifles a groan. “Alright.” Lance still looks uncomfortable, but he’s not making any move to run away, so Keith is left to flounder by himself for something to say. Maintaining conversation is definitely not one of his strong points.

“Uh, the chairs,” he ends up blurting out.

“What?” Lance turns fully to him, raising an eyebrow.

“Where did you get the chairs?”

“Oh. A lot of people dump their garbage in the swamp,” Lance explains, wrinkling his nose. “The chairs were thrown here too. So I cleaned them up and, uh, repurposed them.”

“That’s weird, that people come all the way out here to throw their trash away.”

Lance full-on scowls, and at first Keith thinks he’s offended him, but it turns out that Lance is just passionate about the subject. “I know, right? At first it would be teenagers throwing parties, leaving cans and bottles everywhere, but since I’ve scared them off, people just drive over and pitch their shit out. Which I can’t do anything about.”

Keith snorts. “You’ve even chased teenagers out of here?”

“Yes?”

“You’re like an old man. Yelling at kids to get off his lawn.”

Lance bristles, and for a moment Keith swears even his cloak bristles along with him. “I’m not some territorial old man! I have my reasons, you know!” When Keith just snorts again, Lance points a finger at him accusingly. “If anything,  _ you’re _ the old man. Who goes around with a haircut like that?”

Keith raises his hands to his hair, brushing the ends. “What’s wrong with my hair?”

“It’s a  _ mullet _ , that’s what’s wrong with it!” Keith balks at this. He’s always had his hair this length, but no one’s ever called it a mullet.

“C’mon, man,” he ends up saying, sounding more hurt than intended. He’s mostly just baffled at the outburst over his hair. Lance actually looks surprised at his hurt tone.

“Uh, well it’s not that bad, like— nothing a haircut won’t fix!” Keith frowns more, playing it up a bit, and Lance backtracks in a panic. “Er, uh… just leave it! Yeah, nevermind. Forget I said anything.”

Lance is now looking very flighty, so Keith decides to stop teasing him. “I’m fine. My hair isn’t that big of a concern to me.”

“Right.” Lance shuffles on his feet, wincing. Keith’s about to ask him about it before he blurts out: “I’m sorry I’ve been kinda sucking at holding a conversation. It’s, uh, been a while.”

Keith’s shoulders sag. Oh boy, has he been there before. “It’s okay. I’m not very good at talking to people either.”

“Yeah?” Lance asks, like he’s genuinely inquisitive. Keith thought his poor people skills would be apparent to anyone, but he thinks back to Lance standing on his porch, admitting that was the first time he’s spoken to anyone in months.

“Yeah,” he confirms, and Lance smiles a little, if not sheepishly.

Keith’s stomach, which then decides it wants in on the conversation, growls at them to remind him he hasn’t eaten yet.

“Uh, sorry. I’m gonna go in and eat breakfast.”

“Oh, yeah, breakfast! Hah,” Lance chuckles, like the idea of breakfast is childish to him. “I guess I’ll see you around later, then.”

“I guess so,” Keith says. He watches Lance go again as he heads back down the stone path himself. He’s been doing that a lot lately, watching Lance leave, as if it’ll give him a glance as to where he goes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god, klance's power... i love writing them
> 
> tfw you write a fic about magic n' shit but the job keith gets via coran seems like the least believable aspect of it


	7. When It Rains

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos to my beta reader, Sophie! Thank you so much for all your help and support. <3

It was a rainy evening, and the overcast skies made it very dark outside. Keith was in the kitchen, washing some dishes (which he may or may not have let pile up) with the radio playing softly in the background. It was relaxing, but his eye couldn’t help but wander to the window, watching gloomy weather. His mind wanders to Lance’s condition at the moment. He almost couldn’t help it— who would ever want to be out in a _swamp_ in weather like this? Letting out a sigh, he turned back to his dishes and continued scrubbing.

He’d just about finished when a thunderous roar rang out. Drying his hands and looking worriedly out the kitchen window, he watched another shot of lightning strike the earth, soon followed by its roar a moment later.

 _He’ll be fine,_ Keith tells himself. _He’s been fine living out there this long._ The thunder roars again as another bolt of lightning flashes outside, and it sparks something akin to frustration in Keith. Screw being fine, there’s no way anyone would be enjoying themselves out there.

Determinedly, Keith grabs his definitely-not-a-rain-jacket (he lived in the _desert_ before this, okay?), throws on his boots, and begins his trudge towards the back garden, sticking to the stone path as well as he can. It’s easier said than done because it’s so dark out; Keith can barely see where he’s putting his feet.

“Lance!” he calls. “Lance!”

The wind is relentless, and the rain is pelting down almost painfully hard. Another crack of lightning strikes entirely too close to be comfortable. Keith jolts in surprise, causing him to slip on the muddy ground and fall.

He picks himself up, but as he looks around, he sees that he’s either fallen off the trail or has been walking off it for a while now. He can’t find it, or, because of the oppressive darkness, his house.

“Shit,” he breathes, shivering. As expected, his jacket has done nothing to protect him from the storm. Between that and his fall, he’s soaked.

“Lance!” he yells again. “Lance, where are you?”

Here, Keith realizes he has two options: try to find his way back home, or to wander deeper into the swamp and continue looking for Lance. Another rumble and flash makes up his mind for him.

He treks deeper into the swamp, soon pushing past tall reeds as he continues to call for Lance. One foot plunges into unsolid land, and his whole leg immediately sinks down into the mud. Keith’s stuck.

“Goddamn it,” he swears, trying to pull his leg out, but it doesn’t budge. He becomes unbalanced as he tries to yank himself free, and a strong gust of wind almost blows him over. Keith takes a moment to catch his breath. Every pull just makes his leg feel like it’s getting lodged deeper. He’s still shivering.

Keith motions to keep pulling at his leg, but pauses as he hears a rustling above the noise of the storm. Something’s moving within the reeds, closing in on him. In a blind panic egged on by the storm and his vulnerable position, he renews his effort to free his foot with gusto. The rustling only gets closer and closer, until he can _see_ the grasses quivering.

Keith’s inner monologue goes something like: _fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck._

Lance pops his head out through the grass. “ _Keith?”_ he asks, incredulously, calling out over the storm.

“ _Shit_ , Lance,” Keith says, “you scared me so bad.”

“I thought I heard you calling! Why the hell are you out here right now?”

“I was looking for you!” Keith yells back. This makes Lance pause.

“Why were you looking for _me?”_ he asks, genuinely confused.

“Fuck, Lance, why do you think? Look at the storm out here!” Another flash of lightning strikes, illuminating everything for a split second, and Keith renews his efforts on getting his foot out of the mud. “I wanted to invite you inside!”

Lance doesn’t respond, instead focusing on Keith’s trapped leg. “Are you stuck?” he asks.

“ _Yes_ _,”_   Keith hisses out.

“Right, right, stupid question. Uh, here.” With a gesture of his hand, the mud trapping Keith’s leg shifts away so he can pull it out with ease.

“Thanks,” Keith says, and tries not to look so obvious in wrapping his arms around himself for warmth. By the worried expression that crosses Lance’s face, Keith doesn’t succeed.

“C’mon,” Lance says, shakily pulling Keith in as if he’s nervous. He drapes his large cloak over Keith as well, which is surprisingly warm. “Let’s get you home.”

Lance manages to navigate them back to the path, and then to Keith’s house. Keith quickly pulls the door open, shrugging out from under Lance’s cloak in the meantime. He quickly enters and pulls off his boots and jacket, discarding them on the floor and coat hanger. Lance hovers awkwardly in the doorway, unsure of what to do.

“Get in here,” Keith huffs, “I’m not letting you go back out in that weather.”

“It’s not—”

“Don’t you dare tell me it’s not that bad.”

Lance’s mouth shuts quickly with an audible click of his teeth. They stand and look awkwardly at each other for a moment.

“I’m going to go change,” Keith announces, uncomfortable in his soaking clothing. “You can… uh… make yourself comfortable?” Lance just nods and walks in, closing the door behind him. He’s still standing in the door awkwardly when Keith enters the bathroom, PJs in hand.

By the time he finishes changing, Lance has taken off his shoes as well, and has hung his cloak up on the coat rack. As of the moment, he’s sitting on the couch stiffly.

“Is my bed comfortable?” Keith tries to joke, but Lance shoots up from from his sitting position like Keith’s just accused him of pissing on his grandmother’s grave.

“Sorry!” he all but yelps. “I’ll take the chair.” He sits at the kitchen counter.

“It wasn’t a problem,” Keith says, trying to rectify the problem, but Lance just flushes.

“Oh, uh, sorry,” Lance says, looking away. Keith decides to sit on the now-empty couch. They both end up sitting in silence, doing nothing for a few minutes. Every few seconds or so, Keith peeks up to see what Lance is doing. He seems very interested in the radio, as he keeps looking over it before his gaze shifts back down to hips lap. The weather storms on outside.

“So…” Lance begins, still not making eye contact. He’s nervously playing with a strand of hair. “What do you usually do in your spare time…?”

Well, Keith used to dirtbike when he had a free moment, which was quite often at his old place. Tearing through the desert at what were probably very unsafe speeds did wonders for clearing his head, and it was a ritual he often found himself partaking in whenever he needed to lose himself for a bit. He mourned the loss of the bike, but he had to sell it before his move out here. Without riding around as an option anymore, his spare time was usually spent cleaning up the new place, re-organizing, reading the odd book he had, or working at Coran’s, all of which weren’t very good for entertaining a guest.

“Uh, not much,” he settled on. Lance seems to shrink in on himself, looking displeased. Keith scrambles to find something to say, with little success. Sneakily, Lance looks at the radio again, and an idea strikes Keith.

“Do… do you want to listen to the radio?”

Lance snaps his gaze up to Keith. “Yes! Er, I mean, that’d be cool. If you want too.” He looks sheepish again, and Keith can’t help but smile. Walking over to the kitchen, he clicks it on. The signal comes in pretty well, and Keith is thankful for the large antenna on the ancient thing. Almost immediately, Lance is tapping out the tune it plays. The radio is set to a station that plays a lot of older rock, not the more mainstream pop songs.

Lance looks so happy, he’s about to burst. “Oh man!” he exclaims. “It’s been so long since I’ve listened to music!”

“Really?” Keith inquires.

Lance hesitates, but admits to this with a hesitant nod of his head. He continues to tap out a beat on the counter.

“You can change the station, if you want.” Lance looks up with Keith with glee, and cycles back and forwards through the available stations rapidly, as if he wants to listen to everything he can find. Eventually, he picks a favourite and stops on it. It’s an  pop song, something that Keith usually just tolerates. Slowly, however, as Lance’s tapping fingers are soon joined by his swinging feet, full arm movements and swiveling hips, Keith can’t help but get sucked into the rhythm. Lance’s movements have pretty much become stationary dancing, and it looks like he’s itching to jump up from his chair. Eventually he does, dancing around the room, laughing all the while. Keith watches from the kitchen, leaned up against the counter with a smile on his face.

All good things must come to an end though, and the song comes to a close. Lance does a big finale, all exaggerated gestures, and then bows deeply. Keith rolls his eyes, but indulges him by clapping. Lance, by all means, is not a bad dancer, but maybe a little out of practice.

Sweating a bit, Lance sits back down on one of the kitchen counter chairs. He sighs, almost dreamily.

“I’ve wanted some music to dance to for a _long_ time,” he says, resting his head down on the table.

“No music in the middle of the swamp, I guess,” Keith supplies. Lance nods.

“I have danced since,” he says, “but not with music.”

Keith’s eyebrows pull together. “...Since when?” he asks. Lance’s expression sinks. Keith waits in silence for an answer he doubts he’ll get.

“I really shouldn’t be here,” he mumbles. I shouldn’t be doing _this.”_

“You keep saying stuff like that,” Keith says, becoming a little frustrated despite himself. “ _You can’t be here, I shouldn’t be here, you have to leave, I should go_. What are you so afraid of?”

At _afraid,_ Lance goes rigid, straightening up where he sits to face Keith with mask of seriousness that immediately demands attention.

“I’m not afraid of anything,” Lance says, bordering on sneering. “I’m not fucking scared of— of _anything_ _.”_

“Everyone’s scared of something,” Keith snorts, immediately picking up on Lance’s front. Lance’s hands curl into fists on the counter, shaking with the intensity of the curl of his muscles.

“I am _not_ _,”_ Lance states, “afraid of anything.” Distantly, Keith hears thunder roaring in the distance, suddenly aware of the storm outside again. Soon after, the lights flicker once, twice, and is followed by a loud booming. The two look up to the lights, watching as they flicker a third time, and don’t come back on. The radio fizzles on and off in accordance with the finicky power.

“Oh,” Lance breathes. Another flash of lightning touches down, briefly illuminating the kitchen. In the brief light they have, Keith catches a glimpse of Lance’s figure, wide-eyed and hands now slack. The lights flicker again, and remain on.

“Must be getting worse out there,” Keith mumbles to himself, turning to the window to his right.

“Right,” Lance says, sounding nervous. Keith looks back at him over his shoulder, brows furrowed. Why did he look so guilty?

 

❈

 

Their conversation hit a lull after that, but the radio remained on, so Lance hummed along to whatever played while Keith busied himself by putting away the dishes he washed earlier. Lance had offered to leave, but Keith was adamant that he stayed, as the storm still hadn’t passed.

_“Honestly, it’s not a big deal. Really Keith, I’ve put up with tons of storms. A little thunder and lightning isn’t gonna kill me.”_

_“You’re not gonna “put up” with a storm when you could just stay here and not have to deal with it at all.”_

Lance gave up on pressing the matter further after that, accepting that Keith wasn’t gonna budge. Lance continued to look conflicted about the whole ordeal, however.

“The glasses don’t go there,” Lance states out of the blue. Keith, who was stretched out to put a glass away into the cupboard, freezes before peering back to look at Lance, who’s staring down at the kitchen counter with furrowed brows.

Keith puts the glass away, and turns around fully to face Lance. He’s drawing circles onto the granite with his pointer finger.

“The glasses used to go to the _left_ of the sink. Not directly above it.”

“You lived here,” Keith says, more of a statement than a question. He’d forgotten.

Lance nods solemnly. “There used to be a bunkee outside. Lots of flower pots scattered around for decoration.”

Keith’s not entirely sure what to say to that. The radio fills the silence with a soft melody. Lance must’ve changed the station back to one Keith typically listened to, if the genre of the song was any indicator. The tune is soft and soothing, mostly piano. Keith thinks he’s heard it before, but he’s not sure.

Eventually, he puts the last dish away.

“Lance,” he says while turning around to face him. “What hap—”

Lance has fallen asleep, head resting in his crossed arms. Sleep undoes his features, soft and gentle in contrast to his typically animated expressions. His cheek is smooshed against his arm, and the word _cute_ passes through Keith’s brain unbidden. The whole image catches him off-guard, honestly.

It’s an endearing scene, but Keith’s not going to let a guest sleep on a hard chair and granite counter. The only bed space available is the couch, so Keith will just have to sleep on the floor. It’s not really a problem for him.

He takes the few spare pillows and blankets that he has, and makes a place for himself a few feet from the foot of the couch. He walks back over to Lance, and gently rouses him with a shake to his shoulder.

“Lance,” he says, voice lowered.

“Mm,” Lance mumbles, shifting further into his arms, making no attempt to get up. Keith snorts. _Figures._

“Lance,” he says again, and this time Lance raises his head, blearily blinking his eyes open. It’s late, and he doubts Lance is going to be fully awake anytime soon.

“C’mon,” Keith says, pulling Lance up by his arms and leading him to the couch. “You can lay here.”

“But… _you_ sleep here,” Lance sleepily grumbles, squinting at the light.

“It’s fine,” he urges. “I made myself somewhere else to sleep. Go to bed.” Lance looks between Keith and the couch one more time before collapsing onto it, immediately making himself comfortable. Keith stifles a chuckle at this.

He goes back to turn off the radio before laying in his “bed”. As he settles, he hears a quiet, muffled mumble of “Thank you,” from Lance, and smiles to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm excited to get this one out! I loved writing it.
> 
> Also, headcanon: Lance likes just about any genre of music, so long as it's playing!
> 
>  
> 
> AO3 italics stop being so ugly challenge


	8. "i have emotions"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: I FORGOT TO THANK MY BETA SHAME ON ME  
> Thank you Sophie!!!!!! You're the best! <33333

Keith wasn’t sure what he was expecting when he woke up, but he couldn’t help but feel upset about the turn of events.

Upon waking, he was still on the floor, and a little disoriented until he remembered the night before, and the reason he gave up his bed. Poking his head up, he looked at the couch and found it empty. Getting out of bed and padding around the house, he confirmed he was alone. Lance had left.

He chastised himself for hoping for otherwise. It’s not like one night would make he and Lance best of buddies or anything. Lance was probably busy doing… swamp things. What, had Keith been expecting to make the guy breakfast too? He sighs aloud at himself. This was ridiculous. How much could one person linger on the mind, anyways?

And yet, as Keith started his morning routine, his mind loyally stayed on the same topic, never straying.

 

❈

 

_ “Mama!” a little boy cries. “Mama!” _

_ The weather today is especially hot, and the sun beats down on the beach’s sand relentlessly. Many people have escaped down to the nearest body of water, seeking refuge from the heatwave that has yet to pass. This beach would’ve been one of those aforementioned locations, but it’s a private strip of land. Lance’s mother owns it. _

_ “Mama, I moved the water! Mama!” Lance breaks his concentration on the shore, looking up and down the sandy expanse around him for his mother. He doesn’t see her. _

_ “Mama!” he calls, stomping away from where the water laps at the shore. “You said you’d stay and watch!” _

_ His mom finally has the weekend off, and he wanted to show her how he had finally learned to lift the beach’s water. Granted, it wasn’t as much as his older siblings could lift, but he took immense pride of the few droplets he could pry away from the ocean. He’d been practicing very hard with Veronica all week! _

_ Aimlessly, he wanders around before deciding she must’ve went back home to fetch something. Pouting, he heads back towards where the sand fades into grass, trekking towards the treeline that sheltered their house. He’s about halfway home  when he feels the hair at the back of his neck stand on end. _

_ “Mama?” Lance turns around. He sees what seems to be an odd, globby shape. It’s conglomerated itself in a vaguely human form of shifting blacks and purples. The thing takes a step closer. Lance is so thrown off by the sight in front of him, he doesn’t notice the sound of footfalls approaching rapidly from behind him. _

_ Arms wrap possessively around Lance from behind. Frightened, he shrieks, and tries to pull away. _

_ “Lance!” he hears his mother’s voice scold, and he turns around to see his mom. _

_ “Mama!” he says loudly, and leans into the embrace. She scoops him into her arms, and stands tall and proud against the creature across from them. _

_ She raises a hand, palm-up, and the deafening roar of the ocean accentuates the action. Lance watches, wide-eyed and gasping, as a huge sum of water rises from the ocean, dwarfing his earlier water-orb from earlier, reminiscent of the Sun to Pluto. _

_ A raw, blue light is extracted from the water, and after a moment of collecting, is shot out at the creature in a single beam. The water falls back to the ocean with a crash, and the monster seems to make a gurgling motion with its whole body, akin to lava bubbling, before exploding into a billion globules. _

_ The whole thing takes place in the span of seconds. _

_ Lance is awestruck, if not a little shocked. He turns wide eyes to his mother, looking for an explanation. She looks down back at him, face of grim determination fading into something soft. _

_ “Have I told you why we maintain the rift, mijo?” _

_ Lance shakes his head. _

_ “We need the rift to bring quintessence to the planet,” she explains, “but sometimes, bad, bad monsters can sometimes sneak their way out through the rift. If we don’t look after the rift, it gets too big, which makes it very easy for the bad monsters to sneak through.” She brings a hand down on Lance’s head, petting his hair, having noticed that he looks a bit more frightened. _

_ “But you’ll protect us, right mama?” Lance says, gripping a handful of her ringlet-hair. She smiles, and kisses his forehead. _

_ “Of course, baby,” she says. “Of course.” _

 

❈

 

After he fumbles a bag of chips he was trying to shelf for the fifth time, Coran starts to pick up on Keith’s poor mood.

“Having some issues, Keith?” he prompts.

“Uh, no,” Keith says, jumping a little at the unexpected comment. He hadn’t realized Coran had been watching him. “Sorry for dropping the bag again.”

“Not with the chips, son,” Coran elaborates, eyes crinkling as he smiled sympathetically. Keith found himself flustered. How did this man manage to read people like an open book?

“I’m… dealing with something kinda complicated right now.”

Coran hums. “Something like a puzzle?”

“I guess you could say that,” Keith says, brows furrowed.

“Why not try writing it down?” Coran suggests. “If you have all the facts written down in one place, it may become easier to piece things together.”

“That’s…”  _ Huh. _ “Not a bad idea.”

“I never have bad ideas!” Coran absolutely states, puffing his chest out a bit. “You can rely on the old  _ Coranic _ to fix anything! You know… Coran-ic, mechan-ic…” But Keith isn’t listening as he rambled on.  _ Not a bad idea at all. _

When Keith gets home, he practically throws his shoes off. Grabbing the writing utensils and the crappy little notebook he bought from Coran’s, he marches right over to the kitchen counter. He slaps down the notebook with what's probably an excessive amount of flair, and lays out his pens, ruler, and highlighters in one smooth motion. He sits down, grasps a pen, and posies himself to write. He scratches down one sentence:

 

_ i have emotions _

 

He groans and slams the notebook closed. Writing out his thoughts is somehow oddly belittling. Keith opens the notebook, scribbles out what he just wrote, and tries again.

 

- _ mysterious magic boy breaks into my house but i’m okay with it now _

 

Well, it’s not… poetic or deep, by any means, but it’s a start.

 

- _ he wears a cape made out of plants and has a frog that he carries around on his shoulders _

 

Keith draws an arrow that leads from the word  _ frog _ into the margin, where he adds  _ it’s named Blue _ .

 

- _ he wrote stupid messages on the walls of my house to scare me _

_ -it didn’t work _

_ -he put a bunch of frogs in my house and then had to come get Blue when  _ _ it _ _ she hid in my cupboards _

_ -we gambled for property rights using rock-paper-scissors _

_ -he cleaned my house and made me a garden— a whole backyard as an apology _

_ -he saved me from a storm, listened to the radio with me, fell asleep on my couch, then ditched _

 

Keith sits back, frowning. The night of that storm, they’d definitely bonded some. So why did Lance take off? He was about to tidy everything away when he remembered the story Coran had told him.

 

_ -had a family (extra bunkee) _

_ -showed up one day without them _

_ -was declared missing (living in swamp since? probably) _

 

He’s stopped for the time being, not quite sure what else to write, still frowning down at the paper. A sudden and harsh rapping at the door has his head snapping up and his hand slamming the notebook closed. Keith fumbles out of the chair and scuttles over to the door, feeling a little flushed at being caught off-guard.

_ Dear diary, _ he thinks, mocking himself.

Opening the door, he’s (for whatever reason) surprised to see Lance.

“Good afternoon,” Lance says, looking like the epitome of nervous as he rubs the back of his head nervously.

“Afternoon.”

“I’m… er, I’m sorry for taking off this morning. I just—!” He flushes red. “I know you sleep on the couch, ‘cause, like I’ve seen the empty bed frame in your room— n-not that I’ve broken in again! Sorry about that again too, by the way, but earlier when I was trying to get Blue back I had to go through the window and I saw the empty bed frame but, y’know, I didn’t really take note of it until later, and then we had been hanging out— uh, spending time?— at your place and I woke up on the couch, which is your bed, because you have no mattress and just an empty bed frame but also you told me that the couch was your bed and—”

“Lance!” Keith shouts, cutting him off. Lance’s ramble had picked up to turbo speeds by the end of that. “Breath. You’re rambling. And, uh, you’ve kinda lost me.”

“R-right. Sorry. Um, sorry for taking your bed last night. A-and then running off afterwards.”

Keith blinks. “Oh. That’s okay. I offered you to take it, you know.”

Lance seems to flush even more. “I- I know! But I should’ve taken the floor like you did, or something…”

“Lance, I told you, it’s fine,” Keith says firmly. “Please stop panicking about it now.”

He takes a deep breath, centering himself. “Okay. I’m calm. It’s fine. I’m okay.”

Keith scuffs a foot on the ground. “Do you… want to come in?” he says. Lance looks surprised at his offer.

“If you don’t mind,” Lance says shyly. “I’d like to listen to some music again.”

Keith grins. “I think that can be arranged.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay! Finally, some plot stuff!
> 
> Before things really pick up, I would like to direct everyone's attention to the "it gets kinda sad" tag on the fic. I don't think it qualifies to be tagged with "angst", but maybe you'll disagree. Anyways, both Keith & Lance have their own Tragic Anime Backstories, so please keep this in mind heading forwards. :,)
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, and continuing to read this fic! Oh, and for the lovely comments you guys leave! They always brighten up my day. :D


	9. Like Waves on the Sand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from Styx's [Boat on the River](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K9Qs8-BkiLw).
> 
> Thank you to Sophie for yelling at me every time I send a new chapter her way <3

Lance intently stares Keith down from across the counter, trying to get a read on him. Keith, in retaliation, sneers at him, turning up his nose.

“You better watch yourself,” Lance threatens, tone low, “because this time? You’re going _down.”_

Keith snorts. “Yeah right, we’ll see about that,” he says. Lance barks out a laugh.

“Get ready,” he says, shuffling the cards in his hands. “Queen!”

“Go fish!” Keith yells back.

_“Fuck!”_ Lance screeches, grabbing another card from the deck.

Keith never thought he’d end up playing a game of go fish _this_ aggressive, but here he was. Evidently, Lance has a healthy dose of competitiveness, which Keith can eagerly match with his own. He doesn’t really know how they settled on _go fish_ out of all things when he brought out the deck of cards, though. Maybe it was because it was the easiest card game for both parties to remember.

Safe to say, Keith can add _competitive_ on to the growing list of “Things Keith Knows About Lance” when he has free time. As of the moment, Keith’s down to three cards, all aces, and he has a sneaking suspicion as to where the fourth is.

“Ace,” he calls, a smug smile spreading on his face. Lance’s poker face stays strong for about three seconds until it cracks into a special type of losing-go-fish fury. He throws the offending ace at Keith.

“How are you _so_ good at this?” Lance asks, picking up the cards. Keith just shrugs, smirking. Lance sticks his tongue out at him, shuffling the cards back together in the meanwhile.

“Okay, I have another game to play,” Lance says, after he’s finished. Keith sits quietly, waiting for him to elaborate.

“52 pickup,” Lance says, throwing all of the cards at Keith, who splutters as the fall around him.

“That’s not a thing!” Keith says, ducking down to pick up the cards off the floor.

“Oh man, yes it is!” Lance laughs. “Oh God, I can’t believe no one’s ever played that one on you before, it’s _hilarious.”_

“Yeah, whatever,” Keith snarks, standing back up in time to see Lance stretch out his arms and walk over to the door, shrugging his cloak on.

“That was fun,” he says contently, a warm smile on his face, “but I should be going now.”

Keith can’t help but feel his heart drop a bit. “Oh. Of course.” Lance steps into his shoes and moves to open the door. Keith doesn’t dare ask Lance to come back later.

“Goodbye,” Lance calls with an odd smile. There’s an undercurrent of some emotion that Keith can’t quite but his finger on. Perhaps melancholy.

“Bye,” Keith responds, preoccupying himself with the cards and looking away from the door. He snaps the elastic band that holds the cards into place, and only when he hears the door click closed does he let himself drop them with a sigh.

What has been _wrong_ with him as of late? He can’t seem to get enough of Lance’s company. Clicking off the radio, he leaves the cards on the island. He reaches for the journal he’d pushed aside earlier and a pen. Hesitantly, he scribbles down a few more points.

 

_-he’s competitive_

_-he’s stubborn_

_-goofy_

_-showed me how to play 52 pickup_

 

Something akin to embarrassment swirls uneasily in Keith’s gut, so he closes the journal, pushing it aside once again in favour of finding something else to do.

 

❈

 

_“Look, Hunk! I’m telling you, I can lift the water!”_

_“Uh, yeah Lance, so can I.” Hunk scoops up and handful of water, before throwing it at Lance. Lance squeals as cool water hits him in the face. They’re down at the beach again, after begging Lance’s mother to let them go. She finally relented, but only allowed them to go under her supervision. She’s oddly protective like that. Hunk says that_ his _parents let him go about as he pleases! Alone! As of the moment, however, she watches the two from the shore._

_“No, Hunk! Not like that! I can lift it with my_ mind _.” He sinks further into the chest-deep water so that only his eyes show, smirking to himself. Perhaps if the pair were younger, more naive, Hunk would’ve bought it immediately, but 10-year-old Hunk is nothing if not skeptic, and 10-year-old Lance is nothing if not dramatic._

_“Funny joke, Lance.”_

_“Huu-nk!” Lance whines. He stops a foot, but the motion is muffled by the water. “I’m serious! Watch!”_

_He raises a hand, and for a languid moment, nothing happens._

_“I knew you wereㅡ” Hunk begins, but is stunned into silence as a golf-ball sized bubble of water is pulled out of the ocean by seemingly nothing._

_“I_ wasn’t _lying!” Lance all but shrieks. Truthfully, he wasn’t even sure he’d be able to do it. His water powers seem very finicky. He doesn’t have as good as a grasp on it as his older siblings._

_He’s about to hurl the ball of water at Hunk in retaliation for the earlier splash, when all of a sudden, his mother calls his name so loudly he panics, and fumbles with the water ball. The two friends look back at the shore, where Lance’s mother is on her feet, looking upset._

_“Lance, come here!” she shouts._

_“Uh oh…” Hunk says._

_Lance woefully drags himself to the shore, cursing his existence with every dragging step._

_“Yes, mama?” he asks, as he breaches the shoreline._

_“What did I say about showing off your… abilities, to anyone besides the family?”_

_“Not to do it…?” Lance scuffs his feet in the sand, avoiding eye contact._

_“So?” she asks, raising a pronounced eyebrow at Hunk’s figure standing out in the water._

_“But mama, it’s Hunk!”_

_“Lanceㅡ”_

_“Hunk_ is _family!” he argues. At this, his mom pauses. She crouches down to look Lance in the eye._

_“Mijo…” she begins softly. “You’ve got a big heart. I know Hunk is very special to you, but your friends can’t know about this, okay?”_

_“Why not?” he inquires, not for the first time. His mother sighs._

_“I’m keeping you safe, Lance,” his mother answers. “It’s easier if other people don’t know about what we can do, okay?”_

_“I don’t understand,” Lance huffs._

_“What we do is_ dangerous _, Lance,” she reminds him, “and other people won’t understand. It’s easier and safer for other people to not know.” Lance opens his mouth to argue, but his mom cuts him off with: “I don’t think Hunk would ever want to see one of the rift creatures, right?”_

_Lance hesitates. “They’d probably scare him,” Lance admits. His eyes go wide. “They might_ hurt _him.”_

_“Hunk can’t channel quintessence like we can,” his mother agrees. “I’m sorry honey, but it’s for the best if we don’t involve your friends.” Lance nods, and she gives him a hug._

_“Can I go back to him now?” Lance asks, pulling away._

_“Yes,” his mother says, smiling. “Play safe.” She sighs as she watches him splash back into the water._

 

❈

 

Sitting on the floor, propped up against the wall, Keith’s trying to read a book. It’s a bit of a challenge. Not that reading itself is difficult, the book just isn’t very good. It was something he picked up at Coran’sㅡ clearly something B-rated.

It’s about a man and his attempts to become a masterful pilot during the dawn of aviation. Keith’s a few chapters in, and already, the protagonist is a complete douche; probably a self-insert character to fulfill the author’s own fantasies. Hell, he’s already got three different love interests, all beautiful hourglass-shaped women.

Ugh. Heterosexuals.

In all honesty, the cover featuring an exciting image of a jet (which isn’t even in the book, it takes place _way_ too early on for anything even remotely similar to a jet to be around) had drawn him in, and without even reading the synopsis on the back, bought it compulsively. It was only 5 bucks anyways.

Whatever. Keith just wanted something to pass the empty hours at the shack. He’s finished unpacking, and he can’t be working at Coran’s _all_ the time.

God, he wishes he could actually be flying. Not reading about some bozo’s half-researched idea of adventure.

Keith stands up, deciding enough was enough, and plunks the book down on the kitchen counter, none too gently. He then stands awkwardly, like a total dork, in the middle of his shack, with nothing to do.

Some emotion that Keith can’t exactly name settles in. Looking around, the tacky green wallpaper seems duller, the floorboards a little more scuffed, the couch a little more threadbear. It’s deathly quiet. Empty. No light filters in from the curtains because it’s overcast out, and Keith hears a distant clap of thunder. Probably a thunderstorm tonight, then.

With nothing else to, Keith flops down onto the couch, settling in for a nap. Keith’s maybe a minute or so off from falling asleep, when he hears the sound of something brushing against the outside wall of his house. Curious, and with nothing else to do, Keith peers out the window behind the couch. Nothing’s immediately under it, or to the left, but to the rightㅡ

Underneath the bedroom window sits Lance, all but buried in that giant reed cloak of his. He’s pawing at his face, and Keith squints, trying to figure out what’s… oh.

Lance is crying.

What’s heㅡ why is he crying? And why is he crying _right_ outside the shack? Should… should he do something about it? Keith shifts, planting a leg on the ground to lean in closer to the window and… slips.

He clonks his head off the window, which doesn’t hurt, but is _loud_ .He peeks out the window, and sees Lance looking around warily with red-rimmed eyes. He stands up abruptly, and Keith shoots down, laying as flat against the couch as he can, one hand clutched over his pounding heart. He waits a few minutes before peeking over the back of the couch again, and, to his relief, observes the empty terrain outdoors. He collapses back onto the couch with an anticlimactic _womp_ , sighing to himself. Lance is gone, and Keith is alone again.

Should heㅡ should he go and see what’s wrong? Keith’s lackluster social skills, however, unfortunately extend into his ability to comfort people. What if he only made the situation worse? He can’t just abandon a friend in need, though.

Keith jumps up from the couch, mind made up. He marches over to the door, pulling on his jacket and boots. He’s halfway through the garden in his backyard when he hears the faint sound of a tune being carried over the wind. It sounds like it’s coming from out past the swamp. Hesitantly, watching where he steps, Keith ventures out beyond the garden. The ground gradually becomes more mushy until he approaches a cluster of reeds, where it gives away to water. Gently pulling the reeds to the side, Keith peeks through. There’s a relatively pool-sized body of water in front of him, the surface littered with lily pads. Here, Lance lies, his weight seemingly supported by the lily pads. It must be variant of his nature manipulation.

_“ When sorrow holds you in its arms of clay…”_

His back is turned to Keith, but it’s unmistakable that Lance is the one filling the swamp with song.

_“ It’s raindrops that fall from your eyes…”_

Lance’s voice is beautiful at least, and absolutely enchanting at best. The way he recites the song almost has a haunting quality to it, and Keith is struck with the impression that Lance is very, very upset. Keith feels like he should announce his presence. Er, in a moment.

_“ Your smile’s like the sun come to Earth for a day, you brighten my blackest of skies…”_

A frog, of all things, hops over Lance’s side, and Lance turns to follow it’s movements. As he does so, he (of course) catches sight of Keith, who still hasn’t said jack shit. Whoops.

“K-Keith!” Lance stammers, startled. He sits up with a jolt, and wipes at his eyes.

“Uh, sorry,” Keith says, straightening up himself. “For, uh, sneaking up on you.”

“It’s fine,” Lance says, voice strained. He grabs at his shoulder, before holding his arms in front of his chest. _He wants his cloak,_ Keith realizes. Something to hide under. Said cloak lays discarded a few lily pads away.

“You’re good at singing,” Keith finds himself blurting, before he can bite his tongue.

“T-thanks,” Lance says, looking away. “It was, uh.” He swallows. “Something my mom used to sing.” He sniffles.

It looks like he’s about to cry.

“Lance…?” Keith tries.

“You should go,” Lance says, voice cracking. He turns over, back once again facing Keith.

“But you’re upset,” Keith argues gently. All he gets is a sniffle in return.

“Go away, Keith.”

“Tell me what I can do to help first,” Keith says, for once thankful for his stubbornness. Lance peeks at Keith from over his shoulder.

“If I told you that leaving would help, would you go?”

“Yes,” Keith says, voice firm. Lance drops his head back down and mutters to himself, before a swarm of lily pads float over to where Keith stands on the shore, making a path that lead out to Lance. Slowly, Keith puts a foot down, and when his weight holds, slowly walks over to Lance.

Hesitantly, he takes a seat, cross-legged next to Lance, who’s still curled up on his side. The frog, probably Blue, sits in front of his face, watching as Lance stares at her.

“I figured you wouldn’t want to be alone,” Keith says softly.

“I guess you were right,” Lance says, sounding detached. He reaches out and gently taps Blue on the head, probably in lieu of petting her.

“She’s awfully loyal,” Keith comments. “I didn’t think someone could tame a frog.”

“I dug up a lot of worms for her,” Lance answers offhandedly. A small smile finds its way onto his face, however, and Keith internally fistpumps. Externally, he lets a small smile also grace his features. “She stuck around after she realized that she could get a free meal from me.”

A silence settles over the two, and Keith lets it stretch until he finds the right words to say.

“I had a pet dog once,” he starts. Lance looks over, curious. “As a kid, I was really interested space travel. The dogs they’d send to space, too. So, my dad picked up a puppy for me. Named it Kosmo, Kosmo the spacedog.”

Lance crosses his arms under his head, smiling up at Keith. “That’s cute.”

“Yeah,” Keith says, fondly remembering his cherished dog. “He was a good boy.”

“Is he with your dad now?” Lance asks.

Keith shakes his head, smile falling off his face. “Dad passed away when I was young. Couldn’t take Kosmo to the orphanage with me.”

Lance grows distraught at that, and sits up to face Keith. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m fine now,” Keith says, feeling unexpectedly drained from sharing. Regardless, he continues on: “I don’t know what happened between you and your mother, but I’m sorry for it too.” Lance looks surprised at the comment. “I don’t know exactly what you’re facing, but… I know firsthand that mourning is hard.”

Lance’s hands clench against where they lay on his lap, and he drops his head. Keith waits for a reaction, anticipating the worst. Lance scrubs at his eyes with a forearm, and in a flurry of movement, he launches himself forwards, wrapping arms around Keith’s midsection. Keith, shocked, doesn’t move. Lance is sniffling again.

“I d-don’t know what I’m doing,” Lance admits, muffled where his face is buried against Keith’s shoulder. “I hate be-being so sad and so _lonely_ all the time.”

Slowly, Keith wraps his arms around Lance’s back. “I understand,” Keith says. Lance grips him just a little bit tighter.

 

❈

 

_He awakes to the noise of screaming._

_As the youngest child, Lance’s room is upstairs, on the same floor as his mother’s. When he was a kid, she liked to have him nearby during the vulnerability of slumber, in case of an emergency. Due to a lack of free bedrooms (and no one willing to trade), he got stuck on the hot upper floor, despite his increasing number of complaints as he got older._

_Lance jolts awake in bed, and the sound of shrieking is accompanied with crashing and banging, which shakes the foundation of his childhood home almost as much as the screaming seems to._

_In a state of panic, Lance nonsensically throws off his pajamas in favour of his regular clothes, and darts out into the hall. A moment later, his mother, looking equally as disheveled, fumbles into the hallway._

_“Ma_ ㅡ _” Lance begins, but is cut off as he feels a whole-body shiver wrack his frame. He opens his eyes, and his mother seemed to have gotten the chills as well. He knows what that particular shiver indicates._

_“Lance,” she addresses him, deathly serious, “we are going to grab your siblings and get outside.” He barely nods by the time she’s hurrying past him to get down the stairs, a movement he’s quick to mimic. Once they clear the stairs, they turn to see Rachel in the middle of the hall, looking as if she’s seen a ghost._

_“The monster,” she says, sounding winded, “it’s bigger th_ ㅡ _”_

_The wall behind Lance and his mother blows open, and everything’s gone black by the time Lance hits the floor._

 

❈

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Lance sings is [Rose of my Heart](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kN6hNWJTj9Y) by Johnny Cash.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> "some bozo's half-researched idea" *points at self*  
> Actually, you know what? I take that back. I poured wayyy to much studying into swamps over this.


	10. Two Voices, Intermingled

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Sophie for the beta read!

The rapt banging at his door has Keith shooting upwards from where he lays on his couch, clutching his blankets to his chest.

“Hello?” he calls, still tired and a little disoriented.

“C’mon Keith, hurry up and get out here!” Lance’s voice beckons from outside. Keith grumbles to himself as he swings his feet over the couch and pads over to the door.

“This couldn’t wait for me to wake up first?” he complains.

“No!” Lance is buzzing with excitement.

Keith sighs, but it’s in good nature. “Let me get changed before we go.”

“Nooo,” Lance whines, shoulders sagging, “that’ll take too long.”

“Fine, fine,” Keith chuckles. He pulls on his boots and jacket. “Well? What’s got you all excited, then?”

Lance looks like he’s about to explode. He’s foregone his giant cloak, simply wearing his extremely worn jeans and baseball tee. “I just realized this morning,” he says, grinning, “that I haven’t shown you around the swamp yet!”

Keith blinks at this. “You want to show me around? I thought you didn’t want me to go exploring.”

The dazzling smile on Lance’s face slowly falls into a light frown as he realizes his contradiction. He lifts an arm to rub at the back of his head, eyes averted.

“Yeah, well, that was before I really knew you,” he says, a slight flush gracing his cheeks. “But since we’re friends and all that, I figured it was okay now.”

Keith’s heart sings at Lance’s admittance of  _ friends _ . But does he  _ really  _ want to go explore a dirty, mucky, smelly swamp at seven in the morning?

Lance grabs his hand, now smiling again. The resulting rays of light that beam off his face impale Keith right in the heart. “Ready to go?” Lance asks.

Keith turns around, careful not to dislodge Lance’s hand, and slams the door closed. The resonating  _ bang!  _ is so loud Keith’s afraid he might’ve broken something. He turns back around to face Lance.

“Yes.”

Lance brings a hand up to his mouth to smother his laughter. Keith’s heart does a weird seizing thing. “You’re ridiculous,” Lance says. “Let’s go.” He leads Keith off the front porch and Keith floats along behind him.

“I was thinking of bringing you to the most important places around here, since the rest is kinda just a swamp,” Lance narrates as he leads Keith through the tall grasses that grace the edge of his driveway.

“How many are there?” Keith inquires.

“You’ll see,” Lance says, and Keith can hear the smile in his voice without Lance turning around. They wander for a bit, and the whole time Keith prays that his palms aren’t weirdly sweaty. A short time later, the come to a small, open pond. It’s rather shallow, and there’s not much plant life growing around it.

“This,” Lance says, gesturing an arm out proudly, “is where I do my laundry.”

Keith fixes him an unimpressed look. “Your laundry.”

“Yeah!” he continues on, not picking up on (or ignoring) Keith’s expression. “I just separate all the algae and gross stuff from the water and then wash my stuff. Figured that one out pretty early on.” He looks immensely proud of himself, and Keith relents, huffing out a few laughs.

“Okay, okay, I realize that laundry isn’t  _ that  _ exciting, but just wait!” Lance pulls Keith along to their next destination (he still hasn’t let go of Keith’s hand). As they come across a multitude of reeds that have to be pushed aside, Lance informs Keith that they’re almost there.

“Here we are!” Lance exclaims, stopping and pushing more reeds aside. They reveal another pond, which differs from the other in its hosting of a plethora of algae. Lots of plants sprout from the water, and large rocks are scattered around the water’s edge. The most striking feature, however, is that this little body of water is  _ littered  _ with frogs.

“A  _ lot  _ of frogs hang out around here,” Lance explains. “Of course, it’s not the only hotspot, but it’s my favourite.” Lance makes his way to a particularly large rock and sits on it. “I used to hang out around here a lot. It’s where I met Blue!” He beams at Keith from where he sits cross-legged.

“There… sure are a lot of frogs,” Keith says hesitantly.

“C’mon, they don’t bite!” Lance pats the rock beside him. He then mumbles, “well, most of the time. Sometimes if you get up in their faces they don’t like it.”

Keith laughs. “Alright.” He takes his spot next to Lance. “Is this where you got the frogs that ended up in my bedroom?”

“Uh.” Lance looks like a deer caught in headlights. “Next question.”

Keith laughs again, louder, which seems to spur Lance into action.

“Okay, last place,” he says, jumping to his feet. “Well, for now,” he adds, winking. He offers his hand to Keith this time, instead of outright taking it, almost shyly. Keith grabs it eagerly, grinning, and they’re off. Lance leads them to a fairly clear area. It looks like a regular dirt clearing, but Keith can feel the ground slightly give way as he steps.

“Now, I  _ just  _ found a use for this place, okay?” Lance has a mischievous look on his face, one that Keith has a hard time trusting, and he bends over to ball up some dirt with his hands.

“What’re youㅡ” Keith gets out, before Lance straightens up and whips a mud ball at him. It hits Keith square in the chest. Keith’s brain takes a moment to register what just happened, and Lance grins like an ass as he waits for Keith’s reaction.

Fast as he can, as to not give Lance any time to react, Keith gets his own handful of mud and it hurls it at Lance. It ends up missing him by an… admittedly fair bit, and Lance is laughing so hard, he’s bent over clutching his gut. The posture makes Lance an open target, so Keith grits his teeth in frustration and throws another. This time, he hits Lance right on the side of his head. He looks up at Keith, shock registering on his face for a moment as dirt drips down his cheek.

“You did  _ not  _ just get my hair dirty,” Lance says.

Keith smirks, crooking an eyebrow upwards. “Looks like I just did.”

“Oh, it’s  _ on,”  _ Lance shouts, grabbing and throwing more mud balls, which has Keith retaliating by firing his own. This goes on for a while, until Lance decides to use his powers to levitate and throw more mud at him,  _ along  _ with using his arms.

“That’s cheating!” Keith cries. Lance opens his mouth to make some smart remark, but one of Keith’s mud balls strays off course and hits Lance directly in the mouth. He’s bent over spitting it out immediately.

“Oh, shit!” Keith says, jogging over. “I didn’t mean to do that. Are you alright?” Lance is still spitting out mud, and Keith reaches out and rubs his back. Lance curls in on himself a bit more, and starts hacking. Keith’s about to voice more concern when suddenly Lance pulls him down and smooshes a handful of mud in his face.

“Lance!” he yells over Lance’s cackling, pulling away and wiping the mud off.

“Okay, seriously though,” Lance says, once he’s gotten a hold of his laughter. “Can we go back to your place? I need to wash my mouth out.”

“Yeah, okay,” Keith agrees. “I need to take a shower, too.”

 

❈

 

They arrive at the shack without any fanfare. Once their shoes hit the front porch, Lance pulls the dirt off himself with a flick of a finger.  _ Magic,  _ Keith huffs internally.

“I can get the dirt off you too,” Lance offers.

“Oh, so now you’re being nice?” Keith teases.

“Shut up,” Lance says, but flicks his hand again. Keith watches as dirt lifts from his skin, the feeling making his skin prickle. It’s a sensation akin to peeling dried glue off one’s self, but with no peeling and just… lifting.

“That feels weird,” Keith says as he lets them in.

“Mhm,” Lance agrees curtly, making a break for the kitchen sink, where he starts gargling water.

“I’m still going to take a shower,” Keith informs him. “Feel free to just… do whatever, I guess.”

Lance makes a  _ ‘sure’  _ noise over his egregious gargling, and Keith heads to the bathroom.

He jumps in the shower after making sure the water’s warm (he likes his showers hot, okay? Even in the desert he just couldn’t deal with cold showers), and starts washing up. He’s scrubbing, or more accurately,  _ fighting  _ with his hair, when he hears a noise drifting in over the hiss of the showerhead. It’s Lance, singing again. It’s fast paced: a pop song, Keith recognizes. Before he knows it, he’s humming, then singing quietly along, even as he finishes his shower and towels off. Keith throws his pants on, but doesn’t bother with his shirt, just leaving his towel draped around his shoulders.

He’s still singing as he opens the door, just now realizing that Lance has stopped. He also notices that Lance must’ve been leaning against the bathroom door, with the way he falls into the bathroom. Keith catches him easily, and there’s a second where Lance is just  _ in his arms _ before Lance pulls away.

“U-uh! Sorry!” Lance splutters. “Iㅡ uh, you, it’s just, you were  _ singing  _ and I heard it but it was so quiet, so I came closer to listen! I didn’t mean to lean up against the door like a total creep and then fall into yourㅡ y-your,” Lance stutters as his eyes fall to Keith’s bare torso, but then snap back up. “Naked chest. Oh God,” he meeps out, flushing.

“It’s… okay?” Keith responds, a little confused.

“You sing really well!” Lance blurts.

“Do I?” Keith scratches the back of his neck.

“Y-yeah… your voice, is pretty, I guess.” Lance looks away, still blushing.

“Thanks.” Keith feels his own face heat up.

“I-I didn’t think you’d be the type to listen to pop,” Lance ponders.

Keith shrugs. “I’ll listen to whatever’s on. It doesn’t really matter to me.”

Lance’s face scrunches up, as if someone’s tried to explain a complicated equation to him. He nods to himself. “Makes sense,” he says. Keith’s lips quirk up; he enjoys watching Lance’s expressive face.

“I’m gonna go change,” Keith motions past Lance, towards his bedroom. While he may not use that room for sleeping, he does store his clothing in the built-in closet the awful room boasts.

“Oh! Of course!” Lance ducks out of his way, and makes back towards the kitchen. As Keith throws open the closet doors, he hears the radio click on, and more of Lance’s singing. He smiles softly to himself, and, once again, quietly hums along.

A thought that flutters around in his head suggests that they would make a beautiful duet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I... also... think that keith would listen to pretty much anything on the radio, as long as he _wants_ the music on.  
>  is that projecting? i think that's projecting
> 
> Also, you guys do _not_ understand how tempted I was to name this chapter after Here (In Your Arms) by Hellogoodbye. God, it's such a good song for these two dorks, you don't even understand (maybe for a future chapter...). Please give it a listen.
> 
> Anyways, THANK YOU so much, once again, for the comments! Even if I don't respond to them, I appreciate them all so much! :D


	11. Just Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cracking my knuckles* sappy writing time  
> thanks again to Sophie for being my beta-reader!

The front door to the shack, despite the obvious age of the building, does not make a noise when opened. The hinges do not squeak, and the floor under the door frame does not creak. Keith’s never really paid any attention to the against-all-odds impeccable door, but today, he discovers a sort of appreciation for it.

As he crosses the threshold of the house, he lightly steps across the floor so there is nothing to give away his presence. Due to the lack of noise he makes, Lance, who is napping on the couch, is not awoken. He’s sprawled out with a certain grace, as if an artist positioned him in such a way. The sunlight that pools in past the useless curtains on the windows comes to a gentle rest on his form, blessedly missing his eyes.

If the door happened to squeal and announce one’s entrance, Keith may have missed this. In his mind, he gives the door a fistbump.

Gently closing the door and placing the bags he’d brought down, he quietly makes his way over to Lance, and crouches down next to him. Momentarily, a wayward curl of hair that rests on Lance’s forehead distracts him, but he manages to draw his attention away from the lock.

“Lance,” Keith softly says, placing a hand on his arm. “Hey, Lance.” A little shake causes Lance to shift and stretch out, arms arching out over the arm of the sofa.

“Keith?” he mumbles, blearily opening blue eyes. Once catching sight of the aforementioned, a smile befalls his features, which does unhealthy things to Keith’s pulse.

“I’m back,” Keith says, still talking hushedly, as if not to shatter the fragile moment. Lance’s small smile turns into a toothy grin.

“I can see that,” he retorts lightheartedly, sitting up. “Did you get what I wanted?”

“Yeah,” Keith says, getting up himself. He moves to where he left his bags, and pulls out a red apron. “I don’t know why you insisted I buy this, though. You could’ve just cooked something without it.”

“A  _ good  _ chef must always wear an apron, Keith!” Lance scolds, standing proud. “Mom said that all the time.”

“Sure,” Keith says, smiling. He balls ups the apron and throws it at Lance, who catches it with ease. “I still don’t believe you’re a better cook than me.”

“I’m better than you at a lot of things,” Lance says playfully, donning the apron. “Cooking happens to be one of them.”

“Not go fish, though.”

Lance flips him off as he walks over to the stove.

“So,” Lance says, spinning around with a flourish. “Whaddya want to eat?”

“Chicken,” Keith says, taking a seat at the island.

“Chicken,” Lance repeats, quirking an eyebrow. “And how do you want it?”

“Just bread the whole breast and stick it in the oven,” Keith says, shrugging. “S’not that hard.”

Lance sighs. “Alrighty, then. What do you want with it?”

“...Water?”

“Water.”

“Yes…?”

“Keith!” Lance exclaims, throwing a hand in the air. “Don’t you want, oh, I don’t know, a salad with that or something? Some rice?”

“But I just want the chicken,” Keith says, a little puzzled.

“Christ,” Lance says, but complies, and grabs some chicken out of the freezer. As Lance gets to work, Keith clicks the radio on, partially because Lance still loves to have music on at any given point, partially because Keith loves to watch Lance put some dance into his movements as he cooks. If it’s a song Lance knows, he’ll even hum or sing along. At one point, Keith himself joins in, and Lance turns around with an ecstatic grin (and a bit of flour smeared on his face).

Keith fumbles the next lyric at this.

Dinner, simultaneously to Keith’s injured pride and benefit, goes on without a hitch. Lance presents Keith with a beautiful plate of food, and Keith feels his mouth water just looking at it. Lance takes a seat next to him, eager to see Keith’s reaction to his cooking. Keith’s about to take a bite when he realizes Lance hasn’t served himself anything. Now that he thinks about it, he’s never seen Lance eat anything at all.

“Aren’t you going to eat too?” Keith asks, almost cautiously.

Lance looks at him wide-eyed for a moment before awkwardly laughing and scratching the back of his head.

“I, uh, don’t really need to?” Lance tries. Keith looks at him with a degree of perplexion on his face. “…Because of magic?” This does not help. “I guess I haven’t, uh, really explained much, huh…?”

“No,” Keith agrees. All he has are his theories, and the fact that Lance’s mother has passed away.

Lance takes a grounding breath. “Right, okay. This is kinda weird, so stop me if I’m not making sense. I don’t really… fully understand it myself.” Keith nods, and puts down his fork to give Lance his undivided attention.

“My family and I always lived kinda separately… we had this nice house on a strip of land we owned on the beach.” Lance smiles at this, but it looks a little bittersweet. “Mom taught us all how to levitate water and stuff, and from there we branched out to the sand, dirt, stuff like that.”

“How do you do that? Levitate stuff?”

Lance pauses at that, pondering for a moment. “It’s like a trade-off,” he explains. “The riftㅡ er, there’s this thing, we just call it the rift. It’s like an outpouring of energy. Mom always said it fueled the planet, or something.”

“Like… some sort of spiritual energy?” Keith furrows his brows, staring down at his dinner. Trying to comprehend.

“Kinda? It’d be easier if I couldㅡ” Lance looks up, eyes wide as if he’s having a revelation. “I  _ can _ show you.” Keith’s left eyebrow raises.

“C’mere,” Lance says, standing and taking Keith’s wrist. Keith, without question or complaint, follows.

“It’s a bit further back,” Lance explains while Keith dons his boots and jacket. “We’ll be going pretty deep into the swamp.”

“That’s fine,” Keith comments as he closes the door behind them. He stands in front of Lance and holds out his hand. “Lead the way,” he says, grinning. Lance looks down at his outstretched hand for a moment before returning Keith’s grin and eagerly taking his hand.

“Let’s go  _ adventuring!”  _ Lance cheers as he pulls Keith around the back of the house.

“How is it adventuring if already know the place like the back of your hand?” Keith quips. Despite his tone, Keith’s smile only grows wider and softer. They’re in the back garden when Lance turns around to face Keith, his own expression beaming as radiantly as the sun.

“It’s adventuring for you,” he says excitedly, squeezing Keith’s hand a bit. Keith swallows, feeling his pulse skyrocket.

They push past Keith’s backyard, and come across the same body of water that Lance had laid on previously. Lily pads still swarm the surface, and without hesitation, Lance steps directly onto them, and sure enough, they once again hold his weight. Keith, who cannot make the swamp do whatever he wants at his beck and call, is a little more hesitant. Lance turns, feeling Keith’s deadweight.

“C’mon,” he says, waving Keith over with his free hand. “I didn’t drop you before, did I? I won’t drop you now.” Keith stares down at his feet with determination, and takes a full step out onto the lilies. As promised, his weight holds. He looks up to see Lance grinning again. Keith fully walks out over the water.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Keith prompts. “Keep going.”

_ “ Keep going,”  _ Lance parrots, but complies, leading the two of them further out. “I am your  _ most gracious  _ chaperone, Keith, be nice.” Keith just rolls his eyes.

 

❈

 

_ He doesn’t know how long he’s been walking for. Between the buses he’s scrounged money for and the hitchhiking he’s done, he’s made his way closer and closer to the summer cottage his family ownsㅡ owned. Lance shivers. _

_ Soon, he’ll reach that train station that his family always used to deboard at when getting up here. He couldn’t afford a ticket to ride the train itself. _

_ Lance brings a hand to his stomach, his empty stomach that stopped growling a while ago. It’s a weird sensation, to know you should’ve probably eaten by now, and yet to not feel the hunger pains. _

_ As he reaches the train station, Lance finds a corner under the overhang out front of the station to tuck himself into for the night. As he settles his weary bones, he feels the same inescapable pull he’s felt his whole life: the rift. _

_ “Fuck you,” he mutters. Minutes pass, and the compass in his gut doesn’t lessen in intensity.  _ I’m here,  _ it seems to say.  _ You know I am. I always am.

_ “Go away,” he says aloud. He puts up with it for what’s perhaps fifteen minutes longer before he heaves himself up, following his instinct. _

_ Without fail, Lance finds a stream nearby, and not much further past that, the outpouring of energy from the rift. He sits in front of it, tucking his knees under his chin and clasping his hands together in front of his ankles. He knows from countless nights without food, water, warmth, that the rift is keeping him alive, as much as he’d like to be rid of it. _

_ He looks into the void of energy before him with dead eyes.  _ Let me go,  _ he asks.  _ Let me die,  _ a smaller part of him begs. _

I need you,  _ he can imagine the rift saying back.  _ It’s just you and I now. I need you. Until the end of time, I am  _ your _ responsibility. You’ll keep me forever.

_ “Fuck you,” Lance whispers again. The threat is empty and hollow. _

 

❈

 

As they walk, the late-afternoon sun slowly sinks down towards the horizon. The marsh is packed densely with trees and plants, but the body of water they walk on seems to stretch on forever, and as they continue their trek, Keith’s impatience seems to catch up to him. Lance, who’s strolling cheerily with an air of carefreeness remains oblivious to Keith’s twitching. He swings their conjoined hands, almost in a childish manner.

“Lance, how much farther do we have to go?”

“Hm?” Lance sounds, looking over in Keith’s direction, flushing a little. “Sorry, I was daydreaming. What’d you say?”

“How much farther do we have to go?”

Lance looks down the water, pondering. “A bit. Not  _ too  _ far, but a little bit.” Keith grumbles a little at this. It’s about a minute later when an idea strikes him.

“Hey, Lance,” he says, taking a few steps forwards. “I’ll race you.” By the time Lance asks, “Wait, what?”, Keith’s already taken off.

“That’s not fair!” Lance calls from behind Keith. Whipping around momentarily, Keith spots Lance running to catch up behind him, and Keith kicks it into high gear, legs pumping even faster. Spotting the shore up ahead, he gives one last look over his shoulder, and sees Lance catching up, because of his lanky legs no doubt. But Keith has always been speedy, has always been a runner, and has always taken an innate disliking to losing. He tears off the lily-bridge with seconds to spare. Unfortunately, as he makes contact with solid ground again, he fumbles on a tree root and biffs it, face-first into the ground. He feels something in his ankle twist as he goes down.

“Jesus, Keith!” he hears from behind him. “Give a guy some warning next time! That race was  _ so  _ unfair!”

“Urgh,” Keith responds, lifting his face out of the mud. He hears the plant life behind him crackle, and turns over to see Lance standing above him.

“Oh man, did you trip?” Lance asks, reaching out a hand to help Keith up, which he takes eagerly, hissing as he puts weight on his right foot.

“Might’ve sprained something,” Keith hisses out. Lance looks immediately concerned by this.

“Do you think you can make it just a bit further?” Lance asks. “We’re almost at the riftㅡ it can help you.”

“Are you sure?” Keith asks, dubious. He sees the certainty and determination in Lance’s expression as he nods his affirmation, and sighs. “If you say so.”

“Here, hold on a moment.” Lance winds an arm under Keith’s shoulders, then his other under Keith’s legs, and scoops him up, to Keith’s horror.

“Wumpf! You’re heavy!” Lance exclaims before trotting off.

“No one said you had to  _ pick me up!”  _ Keith all but shouts. Lance chooses to ignore him. Keith simply flushes and tries not to lean into Lance’s chest, instead crossing his arms and looking forwards. Try as he might, he can’t help but note the differences between his and Lance’s statures. Lance has broad shoulders, not unlike Keith himself, but he can’t help notice the fact that Lance’s muscle mass seems much leaner than Keith’s.

As they continue onwards, tiny, unnatural flecks of light pass by. Keith looks at them, wide-eyed, and then looks up at Lance for an explanation.

“It’s energy from the rift,” Lance explains, still looking forwards. “We’re getting close.” The plant life they pass by starts thinning out, and the globules of energy that float by become fatter. They float in the air similar to how drops of oil separate in water. Keith resists the urge to reach out to them.

The golden light that filters through the marsh becomes brighter and brighter, until a magnificent splinter in the ground comes into view. It’s akin to a model-scale ravine, about two meters in length. Keith has to imagine how deep it may go, however, as he can’t see past all the light and energy that pours out of it, sparkling in the evening light.

“This is it,” Lance says softly. Gently, he lowers Keith to his feet, and crouches down besides his hurt ankle. Softly, he places a hand onto Keith’s ankle, and holds the other out towards the rift. Energy slowly moves to his outstretched fingers as if magnetized, which Lance then channels to Keith’s ankle.

Keith gasps as he feels his skin tingle, and then the pain he’s been feeling vanishes. He’s immediately able to put weight back onto it.

“Does your ankle feel better?” Lance asks, drawing Keith’s attention. He’s still crouching on the ground smiling up at Keith. The breeze, or perhaps even the outpouring from the rift, gently ruffles Lance’s hair. His face is illuminated golden.

“Um. Yeah.” Keith swallows nervously. Lance stretches back up to his feet, and looks over the rift.

“So this is what you’re protecting out here?” Keith asks.

“The rift?” Lance says, sounding confused. “No, I just monitor it.”

“But you’ve been scaring everyone away from it,” Keith pushes, confused. Lance looks at him with a lonely type of sadness in his eyes, and it clicks.

“You’re not protecting the rift,” Keith says. “You’re keeping everyone safe from it.” Lance looks at the ground and slowly nods his head.

“This is gonna sound crazyㅡ”

“Everything’s been crazy ever since I moved here,” Keith interrupts, putting a hand on Lance’s shoulder. “I believe you.” Lance looks up at him, taken aback for a minute, and then smiles sadly, placing his own hand over Keith’s.

“Things find their way through the rift,” Lance says quietly. “Monsters. One destroyed my childhood home one night. My familyㅡ” He chokes up on the last word and looks away. “I-I had to run away. To get somewhere safe. I came here and the rift followed somehow, I guess. Found it again one day while exploring around.”

After collecting himself for a moment, he looks back to Keith with teary eyes.

“So, it’s just me now,” he says with a forced smile. He sniffles. “All by myself.”

The second tears grace Lance’s cheeks, Keith reels him into a tight embrace.

“No,” he says firmly despite the way his voice shakes, “no, not anymore.” Lance lets out a watery laugh, and buries his face into Keith’s chest.

“We’ve done this before,” he says. “Me, snotting all over your shirt while you’re all cool and stoic.”

“It’s nothing some laundry detergent won’t fix,” Keith teases gently. Lance laughs again, sounding a little better this time. Gently, Keith pulls back and takes Lance’s hand. Shakily, he reaches another up to cup his face, which, to Keith’s surprise, Lance leans into eagerly, eyes fluttering shut.

“Let’s go home,” Keith suggests. Lance nods, not moving an inch.

Slowly, with Keith’s lead, they head home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmk if i have any contradictory front-door-squeaking moments. i checked but i might've missed some. i'm ret-conning them all for the sake of this _one_ scene. totally worth it


	12. Keith Wins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you Sophie for beta-reading!
> 
> [edit: forgot to mention! we hit the 100 kudos mark! thank you all SO much for reading! i hope you continue to enjoy GOTS <3]

“So, what are you doing out here?” Lance asks Keith one night. They’re outside, sitting on the rocks that bracket the frog pond. The frogs’ croaking, oddly enough, makes for soothing white noise.

“Mm?” Keith hums, wordlessly asking Lance to repeat himself. He was zoning out, the warmth of Lance’s body braced against his and the shared blanket wrapped around the two of them silently lulling him into drowsiness.

“Why’d you move out here?” Lance looks up at him with big blue eyes, and Keith feels his heart skip a beat.

“I’m a pilot, y’know,” Keith explains. “The air force I work for is opening up a new flight base out here. I moved here preemptively.”

“Really?” Lance looks ecstatic. “Oh man, that’s so cool! Aviation is  _ so  _ cool.” He rubs at the back of his neck, and looks away sheepishly. “I wanted to be a pilot before, well, everything happened.”

“No, seriously?” Keith asks. Lance nods excitedly.

“I watched so many flying related shows, you don’t even know…”

Keith shuts his eyes and tips his head back to bask in the moonlight. He smirks. “They say I’m the best pilot of my generation.” It’s silent for a moment before a sharp elbow to the side jostles him.

Lance snorts. “You’re  _ such  _ a dork!” he laughs. “Yeah right!”

“They did!” Keith insists, pride (and side) a little hurt. Lance laughs a bit more before snuggling closer to Keith. Keith, being the weak man he is, lets Lance’s snip go and leans his head on top of Lance’s.

“So what, flyboy, you’ve just been piloting ever since you were born?”

“Very funny. No, I had parents at one point.”

The atmosphere takes a slightly different demeanor. “Had?” Lance asks, tone unreadable.

“My mother left when I was young,” Keith explains softly. “I think I told you father passed away. It wasn’t too long after she took off.” Lance looks back up at him with an expression somewhere between sad and concerned. Keith looks away. He’s never liked that expression; it’s the same one he gets every time he tells this story.

“It’s okay. I had someone looking out for me.”

It’s quiet for a moment. Keith doesn’t plan on explaining further, but Lance prompts, “Who were they?”

“His name was Shiro. He and his fiancé took me in when I was young.”

“Shiro…” Lance ponders. “There was this pilot I used to look up to...”

Keith furrows his brows. “Takashi Shirogane?”

Lance snaps his fingers. “Yeah, that’s him!” he exclaims, visibly excited. “He  _ raised  _ you? What was  _ that  _ like?”

Keith thinks of Shiro burning right through pots with his terrible cooking, and Adam reprimanding him for it. He remembers Shiro sneaking him out to the flight simulators after school hours and teaching him techniques of questionable legality. He remembers Shiro snoring away every single damn movie they watched.

“It was nice,” he says, voice taunt.

“What happened after…” Lance trails off, realizing that he probably shouldn’t ask. Keith’s fists clench. What everyone always wants to know is happened after Shiro, along with his flight crew, vanished into thin air twenty-four hours into their mission. Concerning the mission? Nobody knows. Concerning Keith? Nobody cared to know.

“It wasn’t pilot error,” Keith grits out. Lance nods, smart enough not to question Keith. “Adamㅡ er, Shiro’s fiancé tried to keep me on track, but I eventually dropped out. I just… couldn’t cope. Struck out on my own for a bit, made my way back into flight school. Not a lot to say there.” Lance wraps his arms around Keith’s right arm.

“I’m glad you’re doing better,” he says. Keith shrugs. “Do… do you still keep in contact withㅡ what was it, Adam?”

“I…” Keith falters. “Not really.” Lance hums, and holds him just a little tighter.

“That sounds lonely,” Lance says gently, sounding sad.

“You’re one to talk,” Keith says softly. He shifts his arm out of Lance’s grasp, and weaves it around his shoulders. Lance’s free hands relocate to wrapping Keith’s torso.

“We really need to get out more, huh?” Lance says, smiling a little.

“Maybe,” Keith says, returning the small smile. “I’ve got you now, though.”

“Smooth-talker,” Lance quips, flicking Keith’s side. “I refuse to be one-upped.”

“Oh?” Keith says. Lance reaches out past the rock they sit on, and Keith watches as a small plant buds, grows, and blooms beneath his palm. Lance plucks the white flower from the ground and presents it to Keith. He’s probably just imagining it, but the flower’s white petals seem to reflect the moonlight with an almost opalescent quality.

“I win,” Lance says as he places it into Keith’s open palms. Keith looks at the flower, then Lance, then the flower again, and then back at Lance.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks.

Lance flushes. “Oh. I mean, uhㅡ yeah.” Gently, Keith places the flower to the side to be collected later.

He takes Lance’s face in his hands, leans in, and does what he’s wanted to for probably far too long: Keith kisses him.

 

❈

 

There’s a fumbling of the doorknob, and then Lance and Keith pour into the apartment, giggling. Before Keith can even get the door closed, Lance is swooping in for another kiss.

“Lance, the door, I gottaㅡ mmpf, I gotta close the door! It’s gonna get cold.” Lance just laughs, steps out from beneath the blanket they were huddled under, and dances over to Keith’s couch, where he throws himself down dramatically.

“Hey,” he says with a teasing lilt as Keith eases the door closed. When Keith looks over, he sees Lance draped across the couch in a mockery of a “seductive” pose.

“Draw me like one of yourㅡ” Keith throws the blanket at him. “Hey!”

“You’re dumb,” Keith says, huffing out a bit of laughter. He detours to place the flower Lance grew him on the kitchen counter, then walks over and collects the blanket, hanging it over the back of the couch. He takes his jacket off, just to toss it behind him onto the floor.

“Wow, couldn’t even put it on the coat rack?” Lance pesters. “What a pig.”

“You’ve been living in a swamp,” Keith says as he pokes Lance’s thigh. “You’re one to talk. Now, move over. Stop hogging the couch.”

“I keep myself  _ very  _ well-groomed, mind you,” Lance says as he scoots over, only to flop back on top of Keith as soon as he lays down, “and I have an excuse.  _ You  _ don’t.” Keith pushes his hand through Lance’s hair and ruffles it despite Lance’s protest of  _ “hey!” _

“Go to bed,” Keith commands, closing his eyes as if to lead by example. Lance flicks his forehead, but grabs the blanket and wraps it around them nonetheless.

“Whatever,” Lance says. “See you in the morning, or whatever.” Keith just snorts. They lay in silence, letting their breathing even out. The last thing Keith hears before slipping into sleep is a mumbled “Thank you.”

 

❈

 

Blearily, Keith blinks open his eyes. Immediately, he knows it’s still night due to how dark it is. Lance lies vertically atop him just as he had when they first fell asleep, face tucked under his chin. His breathing pattern is perhaps describable as a semi-snore: he makes quiet huffy noises and mumbles as he slumbers on.

Keith turns his head to look out the window above the couch. The moon hangs fat and heavy in the sky, shining down onto their sleeping forms.

With a shaky hand, Keith brings two fingers to his lips, and looks back at Lance. The blanket draped around them has been crumpled around Lance’s waist, as their combined body heat serves as enough warmth. Delicately, Keith brushes his hand up and down Lance’s back. As Keith does this, he slowly lulls himself back to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *drags myself out of a ditch* i'm alive  
> Sorry this chapter took so long! School owns my ass and it's not fun. Oh well.
> 
> I COULD NOT, for the life of me, choose a title for this chapter. I flopped between 3 for the longest time, two of which were song lyrics, and came _**SO**_ close to titling it after an Avril Lavigne song.
> 
> Anyways, I think I have a projected set number of chapters for this fic! It's probably gonna max out around 19 chapters, with the 19th being the epilogue. That's not set, though, so I'll update the chapter count when I'm a little more certain.
> 
>  
> 
> Since it took me a little bit longer than usual to get this chapter out, and since it's a bit shorter one, stay tuned tonight for a super special double update!


	13. The Calm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, big thanks to Sophie!

This time, Keith awakes cold. He grumbles and shifts, patting around for Lance until his mind catches up with him, pushing past his drowsiness. He sits up, noting the blanket they had been under crumpled on the ground, and the front door ajarㅡ  _ the front door ajar? _

Briskly rising and marching over to the door, Keith sees that Lance’s shoes are gone. He steps out onto the porch, but sees nothing of further notice.

“Lance?” he says, in a rather indoor-voice before clearing his throat and calling again, louder. Nothing. This prompts him to search around the house, which also ends up being in vain. Lance is nowhere to be seen. Expression somewhere between exasperation and disbelief, Keith nervously runs a hand through his hair. What the hell was going on? Did Lance panic and take off again? No, he probably would’ve closed the door behind him. The ajar door indicated a hurry, or panic.

Keith’s brain fell down a different rabbit hole. Was Lance okay? Brows furrowed and eyes rapidly flicking about, Keith recalls what Lance said about the riftㅡ about the  _ monsters  _ that find their way though. He hadn’t elaborated any further than that, but already Keith felt a sinking sensation in his stomach.

Throwing on his jacket, Keith’s out the door, once again chasing after Lance.

 

❈

 

On a hunch, Keith makes a beeline for rift. Unfortunately, this trip takes much longer than anticipated, because without Lance, Keith has no access to the lilypad bridge that they traversed across earlier. By the time Keith starts to see the tell-tale castoffs of energy from the rift, he’s muddy, wet, and cold from accidental falls and plummages into hidden puddles; however, his energy has not waned.

“Lance!” he calls frantically. To his relief, he hears the sound of Lance’s voice shout something in the distance, but Keith can’t quite make out the words. A great rumble shakes the ground beneath him, and for a moment, Keith almost loses his footing. Upon reaching the rift, Keith is greeted with this scene:

The rift itself is beaming in a blinding scintillation, and with another ground-shaking crack, the rift literally splinters further along the ground, as if it’s a plate of fine China breaking from the center outwards.

In front of the rift, Lance is more a silhouette than a physical shape. His arms are braced out before him, and Keith can see him shaking with strain. The ground rumbles again, but this time it’s not the rift’s doing. Water from the wet ground and surrounding bodies of water rise, and Keith watches in awe as a brilliant blue energy with a luminescence to match the rift is seemingly extracted from the water itself. The blue energy brackets the rift on all sides, and Lance’s hands fly about a ruler’s width apart, fingers braced like claws. It looks as if he’s trying to crush the air between his hands, and as they shakily draw closer, the blue energy around the swamp slowly compresses against the rift. The rift shrinks by millimeters, and its brilliant glare dims.

Lance’s shaking intensifies, his whole body drawn taunt. A pitiful whimper sounds before, with minimal warning, Lance collapses to the ground. The blue energy dissipates, and the water previously being held airborne comes thundering down around the two. The rift itself, however, remains as it is: not growing any further or glowing any brighter.

“Oh,  _ fuck!”  _ Keith yells, running over to Lance’s collapsed form. Knees hitting the ground, Keith’s hands hover just above Lance’s form, not sure what to do. Lance’s brows are furrowed, mouth open as he gasps for air, body covered in sweat.

Keith shakes his side, but Lance doesn’t respond. Calling his name and shaking him again, a little more aggressively, Keith still gets no response.

“Shit,” he breathes out. Gently, he scoops Lance up in his arms bridal-style, and begins the tedious trek back to the shack.

 

❈

 

Huffing, Keith pushes open the front door. With both hands occupied, he doesn’t catch it as it smacks against the coat rack. He shuffles over to the bed and places Lance down with great care, organizing his long limbs onto the couch comfortably, but not before slipping off Lance’s shoes.

After shucking off his own boots and closing the front door, Keith kneels back by Lance’s bedside, brushing fingers through his hair in a motion so sickly sweet it seems to sting. Lance still looks worse for wear: his brows are furrowed, his breaths are heavy, he’s sweating rather profusely, and Keith can see his eyes flickering with unrest behind his eyelids.

Keith sighs, and drops his head. “Shit.” What is he supposed to do about this? Thisㅡ this magic stuff, Keith doesn’t understand. He doesn’t know what to do to help, how to fix this problem. What’s the magic equivalent of duct tape? Fuck. He feels his eyes prickle, and Keith scrubs remorselessly at his eyes.

A hand lightly falling on his shoulder has his head jerking up, and he’s met with blue eyes.

“What’s got you all in a mess?” Lance says, voice weak. Keith scoffs, and moves his hand from where it still rests in Lance’s curly hair.

“Not your dumb ass,” k=Keith says, looking away. Lance laughs at that, but even his laugh sounds strained. “What was going  _ on  _ with the rift?”

Lance swallows, pulling his hand back to rest it against his chest. “It wasㅡ it was growing. Like, splintering. Breaking. No, breaking’s not the word. Expanding. Iㅡ I’ve always watched over the rift with other people, my family. And, and I’ve been  _ managing  _ but something’s gone wrong. I think… I think one of the monsters is is trying to break through the rift. A really big one.”

“Fuck, Lance. You think it’s stretching out the rift, or something?” Lance nods from where his head rests on the couch.

“The bigger the rift is, the easier it is for monsters to get through. It allows larger ones to try, too. Fighting them off isn’t too bad when there’s a group of people, but one this size, and by myself…” Lance chokes up.

With the desperation of a drowning man reaching for the warped image of the sun above, Keith takes Lance’s hand, holding it in his own as if it’s something precious.

“We talked about this,” he says gently, “you’re not alone anymore. Whatever I can do to help, I will. Whatever I can, Lance.”

Lance’s bottom lip trembles, and he turns his face away as he uses his unoccupied hand to wipe his eyes. “Iㅡ shit, Keith.”

Lance looks back, smiling despite his wet eyes. “I like you a lot,” he blurts, before going red in the face and looking away. “Er, uh…”

Keith wants the exact colour hex code for Lance’s flushed face so he can paint everything in his life that precise colour.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything,” Lance backtracks, not looking Keith in the eye.

“Wait, no,” Keith says, realizing he’s been silent for too long. “It’sㅡ me too. A lot.” Lance looks over, surprised for a moment, but a joyous grin soon settles across his features, and damn, Keith’s gonna need a photo of that to hang on his newly-painted walls.

“Really?” Lance says, voice small. Instead of answering, Keith pulls Lance’s torso toward his body in a hesitant hug. His hold is gentle: one that leaves space to pull away. Lance, however, does no such thing, instead only pulling Keith closer. They’re both enjoying the hug when Lance suddenly convulses, letting out a pained gasp. Keith quickly pulls away, holding Lance at arm’s length.

“You wanna help me?” Lance manages, sounding incredibly strained.

Keith nods resolutely. Lance staggers to his feet, heavily using Keith as a crutch. Despite the obvious strain he feels, Lance squares his shoulders, and regards Keith with a steely look.

“Get your boots on. You’ve got some practice to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here’s the promised double-update! once again, thank you so much to all my readers for sticking with this fic. it means a lot to me!
> 
> wait wtf why are some of these paragraphs indented and others aren’t? 
> 
> AO3’s phantom indents make an appearance i guess


	14. Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alt. title: _My Fucking Hotdogs_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Sophie for beta-reading! Cheers <3

“Close your eyes.” Keith complies, letting them slip closed. Hesitantly, lacking confidence without a direct instruction, Keith reaches his arms out in the same manner he’s seen Lance do so many times.

“Think about the things around you, the water in front of you. Take a mental note.” He thinks of the terrain surrounding him, the pond Lance has him situated by.

“Feel the energy outpouring from the water. Uh, it’s blue, if that helps.” Keith visualizes the blue energy he’s seen Lance pull from the water, and imagines himself doing the same.

“And now… lift!” Lance shouts. Keith lifts an arm and holds it for a moment, then hesitantly cracks an eye open. Nothing has changed since he last closed them. He throws his arms down, and in a moment of frustration, stomps his foot on the ground.

“Lance, this isn’t working!” he says, exasperated.

“We just have to keep trying!” Lance responds, coming up from behind him. “This is how my family taught me to control the land around the rift. It takes a while to get it.”

“No, this is  _ not  _ working. I can’t do all this ‘reaching out’ stuff you keep talking about!”

“Alright, just watch again,” Lance says, sounding a bit frustrated himself. Pulling a hand out from the blanket he has wrapped around himself, Lance lifts a globule of water from the pond. Keith huffs, and tries to center himself. Following the steps Lance has guided him through about a hundred times now, Keith tries to lift the water. Once again, nothing happens.

“Argh!” he exclaims, turning on heel and stomping away.

“Keith!” Lance calls after him. “Get back here!”

“No!” Keith shouts. “I’m taking a break! I want dinner.” Lance scurries over, and falls into step beside him without comment. As they reach the front porch, Lance grabs Keith’s hand as he reaches for the door handle.

“Keith…” he begins, but Keith pulls away and opens the door and stomps inside, throwing off his boots.

“Don’t ignore me,” Lance says sternly, pulling the blanket tighter around himself. Keith ignores him. “Keith…”

With an air of carelessness, Keith pulls a pack of hot dogs from the fridge and throws them on the counter with disregard. He then moves to the drawer designated for pans, and pulls one out, being careful to make as much noise as humanly possible over Lance.

“You are being so immature, Jesus Christ,” Keith hears over the clattering.

“Can you not lecture me right now, Lance?”

_ “Lecture you?  _ Do you not understand theㅡ the fucking magnitude of this?”

“Of course I do!” Keith whips around, giving Lance his undivided attention.  
“Then why are you taking off and throwing a hissy fit as soon as things get tough, huh?” The laugh that leaves Lance’s lips is almost borderline scoffing. “You should’ve known this wouldn’t be a walk in the park.”

“Don’t say that. I’m not throwing a hissy fit, this stuff is just frustrating. I just want to take a break. You can’t tell me you learned this shit in one day.”

Lance lets out a frustrated sigh and deflates into one of the island chairs. “Whatever. Make your stupid hot dogs. See what I care.”

_ Oh, I will make my fucking hot dogs, _ Keith thinks, seething. He tears into the package with what’s probably way too much force, shredding the plastic all the way down. He smacks the temperature on the oven up to  _ high,  _ throws the heavily processed meat in, and waits in relative anger as the pan heats. As the miscellaneous meat in the pan starts to come to a simmer, however, Keith’s frustration slowly fades.

“Hey,” he hears from behind him. “Those aren’t any good for you.” Keith turns, about to execute the most devastating mouthing-off of the century, but instead of seeing a standoffish Lance, he finds a withdrawn one.

“If you’re going to eat that garbage you might as well cook them over a bonfire or whatever. They taste better that way,” Lance mumbles, and then even quieter: “That’s what my family always did.”

Well, shit. Keith’s still kinda ticked, but how can he stay mad at that pouty face? He turns the stove off, gathers up the bag of hot dogs and the half-fried hot dog in the pan, and makes for the door.

“Where’re you going?” Lance says, sitting up straight.

“To make a bonfire,” Keith responds simply, leaving without seeing if Lance follows. Sure enough, once he’s constructed a haphazard fire pit between the crappy white plastic chairs in the backyard, Lance is there, still wrapped in his blanket, settling down in the less-broken of the two.

When Keith gets the fire started, it’s become quite dark and chilly outside, enough for him to pull his jacket tighter around himself, and envy Lance’s blanket. Skewering a hot dog on a stick, Keith holds it above the fire.

“God, those are so bad for you,” Lance says from the blanket-cocoon he’s hidden himself in. “But they taste so good when you cook them like that.”

“Do you… want one?” Keith says, taking a bit of his own hot dog before starting to cook another.

“No. Yes. Maybe. Urgh.” Lance wiggles further into his blanket. “It’s not like I can eat them anyways.”

Keith’s brows furrow. “If you could eat them before, why not now?”

“When I left home, I didn’t really have any access to food.” He shifts in his chair. “The rift kept me alive on its energy, or something. That was probably for the best, though. It’s not like I have any access to a toilet out here anyways.”

“But… you do now,” Keith says, gesturing to the house behind them.

Realization dawns on Lance face. “I do,” he says quietly, as if in awe. Throwing out an arm from his cocoon, Lance makes a grabby motion with his hand in the general direction of the hot dog Keith is cooking. “Gimmie,” he demands.

Laughing quietly to himself, Keith removes the food from the stick and tosses it over to Lance, who descends on it with the finesse of a starving animal.

“This is like my death row-final-meal,” he says to Keith, “and I chose a fucking hot dog.” This gets a rather hearty laugh out of Keith.

“Do you want your own stick?” Keith asks.

“Yes,” Lance admits, sounding very guilty. Keith smiles and indulges him, grabbing an extra stick, sticking a hotdog onto it, and tossing it over.

Keith hears a quiet “Yessss,” in response to Lance’s hotdog-and-stick acquisition. Lance pulls his feet up onto the chair, against his chest, and settles in. A fond smile finds its way onto Keith’s face, and Keith leans back in his seat, closing his eyes and taking in the moment. The sound of wildlife in the distance, the stars that now surely hang above them, the swishing of plants in the chilly night breeze, the warmth of the fire…

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he hears Lance fidgeting beside him, but he pays it no mind.

“Keith…” Lance says softly.

“Mm?”

“Okay, don’t freak out or anything, just open your eyes slowly…”

Confused, Keith blinks an eye open, and looks over at Lance, who gestures towards the fire with a nod of his head. Keith regards the fire, not quite sure what he’s supposed to be looking at. The fire hasn’t changed in colour, size, shape, or…  _ wait. _

The fire is doing what can only be described as swellingㅡ it expands in circumference, then deflates. It reminds him of someone breathing…

_ WAIT. _

It’s then that Keith realizes that the fire before him is breathing in perfect sync with  _ himself. _ Hesitantly, he lifts a hand, and sure enough, the fire lengthens in height. He brings his palms together and the fire shortens and compresses. He draws them apart, and it widens.

Lance throws himself up from his chair, knocking it over with a clatter and startling Keith.  _ “Keith!”  _ he shouts, clearly excited. “You’re  _ doing it!”  _ He gestures to the fire with a fried hot dog.

“I-I’m doing it,” Keith repeats, “I’m… doing it!” He swishes his hands all around in front of him, and surely enough, the fire mimics his motions.

“All you had to do was start with fire,” Lance says, smacking a palm against his forehead. “Not water!” He laughs.

Keith laughs too, sitting down. He reaches for another hot dog, but stops as he watches the fire still mimic his actions.

“Lance,” he says, probably sounding a little more panicked than he needs to, “how do I turn it off?”

“‘Turn it off’? Oh, uhㅡ” Lance fumbles for a moment. “Justㅡ think about the connection you’ve established. Do you feel it?”

“Yes?”

“You gotta end that connection. I dunno if you wanna ask politely, orㅡ”

“What if I can’t re-establish a connection?” Keith says worriedly.

“Well, you have to end it at some point!”

“Okay!” Using the mental image of scissors cutting a string, Keith breaks off the connection.

“Now, try to connect to it again,” Lance coaches. Keith swallows, but closes his eyes and reaches out, trying to mimic the calm state of mind he had found himself in earlier. He lifts a hand.

“Ohmigod,” he hears Lance all but squeal. Upon opening his eyes, Keith’s greeted with the sight of the bonfire once again dancing under his control. He looks over at Lance, smiling mouth open with awe.

“Woo!” Lance cheers, hardly able to contain his excitement. “You did it! Youㅡ ack!”

Lance crumples to the ground, narrowly missing hitting his head off of the side of the fire pit. Keith shouts his name, and barely remembering to disconnect from the fire, rushes over to Lance’s side.

“What is it? Are you okay?” Keith frantically asks, turning Lance over.

Lance is wheezing for breath, as if it’s been suckerpunched out of him. “The riftㅡ it’s that monster againㅡ ah!” He convulses again. “Y-you didn’t feel that?”

Keith shakes his head.

“New connection,” Lance chalks it up to. “We gottaㅡ we gotta get over there. We have to stop this thing.”

“Lance, you can’tㅡ” Keith begins to voice his concerns, but Lance fixes him with a sharp glare.

“Help me up,” he quietly, but resolutely demands. “I’m not letting you go to deal with this monster on your own.” Keith opens his mouth to talk, but Lance cuts him off again. “We’re in this together, right?”

Keith hesitates. He doesn’t like the idea of bringing Lance so close to danger, considering his current state, but he also recognizes that he himself is not at the proper skill level to deal with this alone. Keith puts his confliction aside for the moment.

“Together,” he affirms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! This one, uh, took a while, haha. I have been _super_ busy irl, and all the later chapters I'm finishing up have been about 1k bigger than usual, so updates might be a bit slower. I'm excited for what's in store! I'm also pleased I can finally give you guys some longer chapters.
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading! Have a great day.


	15. Blue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Sophie for beta-reading!
> 
>  
> 
> Warnings for scenes of violence! I'd say they're pretty PG-13, though. Nothing extreme, although there are mentions of knives ('cause, y'know, Keith), and choking. If you want to avoid the choking scene, look for "The monster coagulates above him," and skip to "Keith grabs the aerosol can."
> 
> If violence against humans via knives bother you, look for "it detaches its other arm and sends it off," and skip to "The monster tenses to move, and everyone else tenses accordingly."
> 
> I'll describe in brief what you missed in the end notes!
> 
> Also... had to add a new tag. It's spoiler-y, but I don't want to upset anyone, so.

With the newborn state of Keith’s bond to the rift and the environment around it, it’s unsurprising that he’s relatively senseless to the monster that is quickly spawning from the rift; however, as he and Lance mover closer and closer to the rift, he starts to feel sick to his stomach. He’s not sure if it’s the connection or his nerves. He’d safely put his money on nerves, though. While managing to keep pace with Keith, who’s speeding through the undergrowth of the swamp at a considerably fast rate, Lance looks absolutely clammy, sweat dripping down his pale brow. Keith knows better than to offer him a break.

The energy that flakes off of the swamp guides their way towards the rift through the night, hanging in the air as if they’re particularly fat and lazy fireflies.

Despite his general disposition, Lance travels with an air of power; his back straight and head are held high as they steal away into the swamp. His reed cloak billows out behind him, and Keith swears he can see blue magic crackling along the tips of it when it graces the ground. It is then that Keith is reminded he still doesn’t know the true extent of Lance’s power.

Right before they reach the rift, energy flecks plenty in the air, Lance stops dead in his tracks, pivoting to face Keith.

“You’re sure about this?”

Keith bites his tongue. Really, he should be asking the same of Lance. In lieu of a verbal answer, he nods.

“You still have the stuff?” Keith nods, lifting to the aerosol can in his left hand. He had found laying around the house a while earlier. He then fishes an old lighter out of his pocket. Unbeknownst to Lance, Keith’s also brought along his prized knife, which had been all but tidied away since that first night Lance broke in.

Lance looks concerned. “Fuck… this is all we’ve got, huh?”

Keith bristles. “What do you mean by that?”

“I’ve got access to the water all around the swamp,” Lance says, gesturing around with an arm.  _ “You  _ can’t exactly drag a  _ bonfire  _ around everywhereㅡ”

Keith opens his mouth.

“ㅡand you can’t just start a forest fire by lighting random things on fire.”

Keith closes his mouth.

“Alright,” Lance sighs, “give me the lighter and the aerosol.” Keith steps out of the way as Lance sprays the aerosol and lights it aflame, blazing like a beacon in the oppressive dark of the evening. Relatively quickly, Keith makes a connection to the fire, and bends it towards himself, whisking it away as Lance lets up on the homemade flamethrower. The fire settles between Keith’s upturned palms.

“Hold onto that,” Lance instructs. “If you need more fire just… let me know, I guess.” Unfortunately, Keith can’t quite yet manage to use the “flamethrower” and grab away the fire it makes at the same time.

Keith looks at Lance with a face of resolution. He knows he can’t form any energy beams from fire yet, but he’s hoping that throwing the fire at whatever monster they encounter will be enough.

“I’m ready,” he says. “Are you?”

Lance nods, looking grim. “Let’s do this.”

They burst into the clearing, and have about a moment to gather their bearings before the ground starts shaking. For a moment, everything looks normal, until Keith watches in horrified awe as a disfigured, black-purple form reaches up from inside the rift. The shape soon comes to resemble a human hand. It flexes each of its fingers independently from each other before slamming down on the ground. Another hand reaches out no sooner than the first has dug its fingers into the dirt.

Out of the corner of his eye, Keith watches as a resolute-looking Lance raises formidable walls of water and lifts them into the air. He harvests gleaming blue energy from them, and concentrates the energy to a ball in front of him, and shifts the water to flank his back.

“Keith,” Lance says, not taking his eyes off the monster. The second hand has a grasp on the earth as well now. “I need you to try and get energy from that fire. As soon as that creature peeks its head out, shoot it.”

The earth rumbles around them.

Keith fumbles with his fire, and for a frightening moment, almost breaks the connection. If he does so, the fire will surely dissipate. His fire is so much more fickle than Lance’s water.

Drawing the flame into one hand, Keith uses the other to do… something. He panics a little. Lance hasn’t told him how to do  _ this!  _ Looking back up, he sees the head of the monster start to poke out.

“Ready…” Lance says. This does not help Keith’s panicky state. Fumbling to do  _ anything,  _ Keith closes his eyes tight and focuses in intently on the bond he’s curated between himself and the fire, himself and the rift. He needs the energy from that, right? How’s he supposed to obtain itㅡ?

“Now!” he hears Lance yell. Keith snaps his eyes open just in time to see the monster out of the rift to about its torso, and to see Lance fire off a barrage of energy strikes at the thing. It takes the first one relatively hard to the head, causing it to reel backwards a bit, but the rest that hit him don’t seem to be doing much.

Wanting to help, Keith looks down at his own hands, but all he sees is a petering flame.

“Shit,” he says under his breath. He gathers the flame to a much larger size, and with a grand gesture, sends it off towards the monster. The flames lick up the left side of it, but the fire doesn’t seem to do anything besides make the creature’s featureless face turn towards where Keith stands.

“Keith!” Lance cries. He quickly draws more water and energy, and once again beams it off towards the monster in a flurry of multiple small shots. With a liquid-esque quality, the monster shifts a large sum of its volume to its left hand, causing its overall mass to shrink while the one arm grows disproportionately large. The monster raises a mighty palm, and much faster than anticipated, it brings it down right above where Keith stands. He manages to jump to the right, barely dodging the attack.

A beam of blue energy, this time concentrated into one large shot, rips through the thing’s arm, scattering the monster’s odd particles about. A solid sixty percent of them regroup and reattach to its body, but the rest dissipate.

It’s now that Keith realizes that he’s missed his shot, lost all his fire. He can’t dare ask Lance to utilize the makeshift flamethrower while he’s dealing all of the damage. Keith reaches for his pocket to grab the lighter (he could at least acquire  _ some  _ fire), when he realizes that Lance still has it. Fuck.

He’s left with one option: his knife.

From his jacket pocket, Keith brandishes the blade, taking a fighting stance. Right now, the monster, which is back to a proportionate size, has all its attention on Lance, who’s still shooting at it and _just_ managing to defend himself with a shield of water. Running up from behind it, Keith manages to swipe across its shoulder with his knife, dislodging what’s maybe three globules.

_ Shit-fuck. _

The monster pauses its attacks on Lance, and turns to face Keith, who is quickly re-affirmed in how poor his actions have been. With a swat, the monster smacks him away with ease, sending Keith sprawling across the ground face-down. His knife falls elsewhere.

Ears ringing, Keith pushes himself up, twisting around as to not have his back to the danger. When he does, however, he sees disembodied hand floating above him. He braces himself, arms over his face.

He hears a dull thunk instead of what he should be hearing: a smack against his own skin. He looks up to see the monster’s hand distorted through a pane of water. Shocked, he turns to his left, where Lance stands right next to his fallen form.

“You ugly purple bastard,” Lance snarls, levitating two spheres of blue energy above either hand. He hurls one at the monster, then the other, where they hit the creature’s torso dead-on. The monster jerks back, its attacking hand returning to hover above the newly-gaping hole in its chest. In response to the damage dealt, it reattaches its hand and shrinks in on itself before spiking towards in multiple bullets of small blobs. Only its head remains, which screams silently through a mock pit of a mouth.

The wall of water previously above Keith encircles around him, wrapping around him like a bubble and protecting him from the monster’s literal outburst. This, however, leaves Lance defenseless for the moment, and he takes the brunt of the monster’s attack, falling to the ground on his back. The monster coagulates above him, now much smaller. Keith’s at a bad angle, but he can see the monster's hands move towards Lance’s neck.

“Get off of him!” he yells, and moves to run over, before thunking off the water shield. He braces his hands against it and pushes, but the water stays weirdly taunt. Keith’s hands come away wet, but the bubble hasn’t shifted. Over the sounds of his own struggling, Keith hears a choking noise. All at once, the water shield falls apart, soaking Keith from above. He pays it no mind, though, and barrels over to where the creature has Lance pinned.

Keith all but bowls the monster off Lance, who sputters and coughs where he lays. Without a second thought, Keith grabs the aerosol can and lighter from where they lay discarded by Lance. The monster moves to its knees, but before it can lunge, Keith blasts it in the face with fire. The seems to stun it, but only briefly. It lunges regardless, knocking Keith off of Lance’s prone form. Due to the force of the impact, the aerosol can and lighter is knocked from Keith’s hands, both of which go skittering across the ground.

The creature, which is now frighteningly human-proportioned, uses its right forearm to pin Keith to the ground by his chest. It detaches its other arm and sends it off, only to return with Keith’s own knife. It holds it in a strange manner, as if it doesn’t quite know what a knife is, let alone how to wield one. It does, however, know what do with it: Keith had demonstrated for it mere minutes ago.

Keith, to the best of his ability, tries to push the monster off, but to no avail. The monster clumsily swipes the knife towards Keith’s face, slicing up his right cheek, causing him to cry out. He brings his arms up as the monster winds up for a second strike. Just as the knife begins its plummet, a beam of energy from the left blows through the monster’s torso, throwing it almost completely off of Keith, who’s quick to scramble out from under it, holding a sleeve to his face. He almost steps on Lance, who’s managed to lean up onto his elbows.

The two watch as the creature bubbles again, reforming to the same size, but this time missing an arm. Its remaining arm still brandishes Keith’s knife. In its fastest recovery yet, it charges over to where Keith and Lance are, kneeing Lance square in the nose and bowling Keith to the ground. It smacks his head against the ground once, twice, but doesn’t remain on Keith for long. As Keith’s ears ring and his vision blots in and out of focus, it springs over to where a cursing Lance clutches a bleeding nose.

The creature grabs him by the hair and forces his head back, brandishing the knife against his neck. Lance sputters but doesn’t fidget too much, probably trying not to nick himself. Keith heaves himself up on weak arms, unsure of what to do. One wrong move and Lance’s throat is slit.

The monster tenses to move, and everyone else tenses accordingly. A small screaming rings out in the air. At first Keith thinks it’s Lance, but the noise isn’t humanㅡ

Blue stands a mere meter away from the whole commotion, puffed up to appear about as intimidating as a frog can, screaming her little heart out. This seems to catch the monster unawares, but doesn’t phase it. It detaches a leg, which it then forms into a hand, and brings down mercilessly on Blue. When it turns back to face Lance, it gets a faceful of energy beam.

The monster goes down hard, Keith’s knife falling from its hand. It flops onto the ground to Lance’s right, where it gurgles once more before dissipating into billions of little particles and blowing away in the night wind. Lance stares at the spot where the monster had been for maybe a millisecond longer before he scrambles over to his frog companion.

“Blue!” Lance cries, dropping to his knees where her tiny body lays. Keith manages to get himself onto his feet, and walks over on tired legs. The frog’s body is… crushed. There’s not really any other way to put it. Feeling a little sick to his stomach, Keith can’t help but visualize a frog ready for dissection.

“Blue…” Lance mumbles through his tears, which plop apathetically all over the ground. Gently, Lance scoops her into his hands, only crying harder when her limp body bonelessly flops into his waiting hands.

“Lance…” Keith says gently from where he stands over him. Lance snaps his head up at him, rage clear on his face.

_ “What?”  _ Lance snaps, angry for half a minute longer before his face drops into further anguish and he breaks down into sobs. “...wh-what…?”

Keith doesn’t say anything, but helps him to his feet. Lance wipes at his face, which is covered in tears, blood, and snot. He turns to face Keith, and Keith’s heart breaks, seeing Lance so beat up and torn up.

“Your face…” Lance says, sniffling, and reaches up to Keith’s cheek, which is bleeding freely. Keith flinches away at the sting the contact causes, and Lance jerks back himself, eyes wide with guilt before looking down.

With shaky footsteps, Lance turns his back to the rift, walking towards home. Keith follows, but pauses to take one look back at the rift. It could heal them, sure, but as of the moment, Keith doesn’t want to be anywhere near it. He’s sure Lance feels the same.

Now, he thinks he understands why Lance tries so hard to keep everyone away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Keith and Lance fight with the monster, and after Lance uses his water shield to save Keith from a hit, is left vulnerable. The monster forms over him and begins choking him for a moment before Keith is able to run over and push the monster away.
> 
> -The monster manages to retrieve Keith's knife and cuts his cheek with it (similar to canon scar). Lance shoots the monster off Keith, but the monster retaliates and has Lance pinned to the ground as it brandishes the knife against his throat.
> 
> Whew, that's that! Action scenes are fun, but difficult for me because I have to sit down and write them in one consecutive go, regardless of how long they are... fml.  
> Once again, thank you so much for sticking with this fic of mine! Comments are always welcome _and_ appreciated! Unfortunately, I'm a bit too shy to keep up responding to comments all the time (I always feel so awkward, oof). However, if you have anything you'd like to me respond to, maybe mark it with something such as "[Please respond]"? I'd hate to alienate my audience simply because I'm socially inept, lol.


	16. Doorway

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Sophie for beta-reading!

Keith rumbles down his driveway on his bike, backpack heavy. He all but drives into the front porch, hitting the break at the last minute and leaving skids in the gravel. Reaching the front door, he sighs and collects himself before gently easing the door open. Lance is exactly where he was laid when Keith left this morning, on the couch, face against the back of it, his back to the door. Keith isn’t sure if he’s awake or not.

As a precaution, Keith moves quietly. He closes the door and sets down his backpack on the kitchen island, careful not to make too much noise as he shuffles through his goods. Along with the groceries from the week, a cardboard box no bigger than a shoe box sits in the bag. The box is light, but when Keith holds it, it feels heavier than a boulder. It makes his heart sink.

“Lance,” he says, not bothering to turn around.

“What?” Keith hears stated with banality.

“I’veㅡ” Keith cuts himself off to clear his throat as he’s suddenly hit with a barrage of emotion. “I picked up a box from work today.”

“Wow. Why’d you do that.” Lance isn't really asking a question. Keith still hasn’t turned around.

“It’s for Blue. I know it’s not really much, butㅡ”

“What?” Lance says, actually inquiring this time. Keith hears shifting behind him. His hands clench the box. He feels he’s about to break out into a nervous sweat.

“It’s for Blue. It’s not, like, an actual coffin or anything, but I didn’t think that they’d sell actual coffins for frogs, or coffins small enough for frogs, so I picked up this box.”

He hears Lance come up from behind him. “You… brought back a coffin. For Blue.”

“Sorry, it’s not anything fancy. I was on a bit of a time crunch.” Keith feels Lance’s forehead drop onto the pane of back beneath his neck. “Ahㅡ what’re you doing?”

Lance doesn’t move.

Keith hears a deep inhale, then a shaky inhale, and then a sob. He turns around slowly, as to not startle Lance, who does not move an inch. By the time Keith has turned, Lance’s forehead now rests in the crook of his shoulder.

Gently, oh so gently, Keith weaves his arms around Lance’s waist and holds him. Lance does not reciprocate the hug, only breathing jaggedly onto Keith’s shoulder.

“You… you wanna go sit down?” Keith offers, voice barely a whisper. Lance remains unresponsive. “Lance?”

“I’m trying not to cry,” he says after a minute or so, spoken so quietly into Keith’s shoulder that he almost doesn’t make it out. “I think if I cry one more time I might never stop.”

Keith doesn’t know what to say to that.

Softly, Lance pulls back, but allows Keith’s hands to remain resting at his waist. Hesitantly, he brings his hands up to rest on either one of Keith’s shoulders, but still doesn’t look Keith in the eye.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “This whole thing is all my fault. I should’ve never let you go back and fight that monster.”

“Let me?” Keith asks, trying to duck into Lance’s line of sight. “I  _ insisted  _ to go with you.”

“I should’ve stopped you,” Lance says, now clutching at Keith’s t-shirt. “But I was being selfish.” Lance pulls away, taking two steps back. He only crosses what’s perhaps three feet, but three feet is still three feet out of Keith’s arms. Lance looks up with a hopeless sort of desperation.

“Lanceㅡ” Keith takes a step forwards, but Lance simply takes another back.

“You’re not listening to me!” Lance snaps, a need to be understood clear in his voice. “You weren’t ready, and I knew that. I wanted to believe you were, but…” Lance chokes up, starts shaking. “I’m so scared, Keith. Those monsters terrify me. I didn’t want to face another creature alone. I  _ don’t  _ want to face another alone, and it’s selfish. I’m sorry.” Lance clenches his hands into fists, and glares down at the ground.

“Look what I’ve done to you,” Lance says, sounding heartbroken as he reaches a hand up to his right cheek. Keith, without meaning to, mirrors the action, fingers brushing against the bandage that covers the expanse of his right cheek. Just underneath lies the cut he received during the skirmish.

“Thisㅡ” Keith says, thoughts a whirlwind in his mind. “You can’t seriously believe that this whole thing is your fault.”

“Well then, whose fault is it?” Lance shouts, shoulders squaring up in a defensive position.

“The monster’s? My own? Fuck, life’s?” Keith shouts back. “I should’ve been able to do more than flounder about uselessly! You saved my ass, what, how many times!”

“I shouldn’t of had to!”

“Exactly!”

“Wait, no,” Lance backtracks, “not like that! You shouldn’t have  _ been  _ in danger in the first place!”

“Well, neither should you!”

Lance scoffs, standing up straight and crossing his arms. “I have to, Keith. We’ve been over this.”

“Well, you shouldn’t,” Keith says, copying Lance’s posture. “You shouldn’t have to fight and be scared. It’s not fair.”

Lance is silent for a moment before deflating with an exhausted sigh. He sits down on the couch, dropping as if he’s much heavier than he actually is. “So, you shouldn’t have to fight monsters, and I shouldn’t have to fight monsters. Who should, then?”

Keith kneels down in front of Lance. “Nobody should,” he says, taking one of Lance’s hands in his own.

Somewhat unexpectedly, Lance wraps his arms around Keith and pulls him up.

“I don’t want to argue about this anymore,” Lance says. He struggles to meet Keith’s eye for a brief moment, and goes a little red when he does. “Can you- can you just… hold me? For now?”

So hold him Keith does.

 

❈

 

The next Keith knows, he's blinking open his eyes. Groggily sitting up, he takes note of the couch beneath him and Lance beside him, who's all but merged with the back of the couch. It's still dark out, but enough light filters in to suggest that the sun has risen at least a bit.

Thankfully, Lance seems to be sleeping peacefully, snoring away softly. Keith stands up, careful not to wake him, and drapes a blanket over his sleeping form. Lance's nose wrinkles, and then he turns to smush his face into the couch, cheek squishing. Keith can't help but to give him a kiss on the forehead.

He makes his way about the house despite the early morning, getting dressed, making some toast, and grabbing the lighter on the counter. Whilst still munching on his toast, he steps outside, contemplating the lighter. He stares down at it with a face of determination, mind set on improving his powers. Shoving the last of the crust in his mouth, he gets to work.

So, meditation must be the key to connecting to all this nature-magic-stuff, right? Maybe if he just... sits in the quiet long enough and  _ focuses,  _ he'll be able to form a stronger bond with the rift, and then finally be able to draw energy from his fire.

He sits down on the porch, and crosses his legs. Well, actually, maybe he should try doing that pretzel-leg thing that people associate with meditating? Keith lifts a foot, trying to pull it into position, only to have his other leg slide out from underneath him. He scowls, tries again, and fails. He groans aloud, vocalizing his frustrations.

“Okay, no,” he says, and opts to hang his legs over the deck. He flicks on the lighter and holds it in front of his face, contemplating it with a sort of exhaustion. He’d much rather be inside, sleeping in Lance’s embrace, but he can’t afford that luxury at the moment. His face steels with resolve. Keith  _ can’t  _ have a repeat of the fight that transpired a few days before. He has to become prolific with using magic so he can protect the swamp, Lanceㅡ his home.

Keith focus on the flame. He watches it intensely, probably far intensely for the well-being of eyes. With one hand, he expands the flame, and juggles it over to his unoccupied palm. Keith lets the lighter drop as he moves to hold the flame with two hands, letting it dance above his upturned palms.

_ What to do…  _ Keith kinda ends up… sitting there, gaze scattering as he stares off into space. Is this meditation? Is this what meditation feels like?

If so, it sucks.

“Ughhh,” Keith whines, flopping on his back, tossing his little fireball from palm to palm. He screws his eyes closed, and watches the light move around him through his eyelids. So… just reach out. Connect to the swamp, or whatever. Then the rift.

Keith visualizes the area around him: the gravel driveway, the stocks of grass and other plant life growing untamed just beyond that. Their house behind him, and the fire pit in the backyard. The frog pond, that one mud-field, everywhere in the swamp and all the experiences tied to those places.

Keith feels a sudden whoosh of clarity, and his clumsy visualizations sharpen to a startling clarity. He jolts in response, almost opening his eyes. He scrunches them closed tighter for good measure. All of a sudden, his vision of the swamp is first-person, almost as if he’s in a waking dream. Huh.

He walks (or floats?) across the ground, heading back towards the rift. As he hovers above the various pools on his way, he drags a shoe through lazily. His foot does not come away wet; the water does not ripple in disturbance. Intrigued, he reaches down to brush against the grass, eyebrows raising as his fingers simply phase through the blades. Weird.

The send-off from the rift becomes apparent as Keith heads deeper and deeper into the swamp. In a cat-like motion, he bats at a globule floating in the air, and is shocked to see it bubble backwards in response to his swat. Can one even touch the globs in real life? He grows queasy the closer he gets. Keith’s certain it’s not nerves, but something else.

He floats across into the clearing, and pauses to hover directly over the rift. It pulsates, shining bright and brilliantly.

_ Hello, _ he hears. The voice sounds close, as if someone was whispering directly into both of his ears. It's indescribable: a thousand different tones and ranges in one.  _ Hello. _

_ What are you?  _ Keith asks. He feels as though he’s going to vomit.

_ You don’t know, _ the voice calls back.  _ Nobody does. _

_ What are you?  _ Keith asks again. He can’t think of anything else to say.

_ Find out,  _ it says.  _ Find out, find out, find out. _ Keith reaches down. His stomach lurches.

His finger brushes the surface of the rift. Nothing happens for a moment. Keith releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding in. He moves to withdraw his hand, but a hand made of vibrant yellow light shoots out of the rift, grabs his wrist, and pulls him in. He goes under with a shout.

He expected the rift to be wet, or perhaps viscous, but instead he still floats, although the air is perhaps a little damper. The luminosity of the rift stings his eyes, so he squeezes them shut. The stomachache from earlier has evolved into an all-encompassing ache, an exhaustion he feels deep into his bones.

_ You’re in a hurry,  _ the rift calls, voice almost taunting. Down here, it’s a hundred times louder. Keith brings his hands up to shield his ears.  _ Never has someone tried to tap into the rift so desperately. It takes a good Keeper years to fully master their powers. _

_ I-I need to,  _ Keith answers, wincing. His head hurts so bad.  _ There’s only one person watching over the rift. _

_ I know,  _ the voice says with no detectable emotion.

_ He can’t do it alone,  _ Keith begs.

_ I know. _

Squinting, Keith blearily opens one eye, then another.  _ He says you’re “splintering open.” _

_ That’s correct. _

_ Isn’t that a bad thing? _ Keith hovers about, trying to get his bearings.

_ For you,  _ the rift says.  _ It doesn’t matter to me. I might break the planet apart if I get too big. Those little parasitic monsters might come through. But those things won’t affect me. _

_ I don’t understand,  _ Keith says, turning around. Where’s the exit? Where did he come in from?

_ I,  _ the rift informs,  _ am just a doorway. You can open a door, and you can close a door, but you cannot break a door. If you seal a door, it still exists, even if you cannot use it. If you put a hole in the door, well, you’ve simply made another way into the room. In the end, the door doesn’t care where you’re going. It doesn’t care if you use it. In the end, it is just simply a door. _

_ I don’t care what you or any other Keeper does, _ it continues,  _ because I will always exist. Close me, and I will simply open elsewhere. _

_ Please,  _ Keith begs,  _ I need to be able to help him. _

_ You’re lucky I even let you establish a minuscule connection to me in the first place, and now you ask for more? _

_ Please _ . _ It’s not for me. It’s for him. He never had a choice in all of this. It’s your fault he has to deal with any of this. _

The rift grows even brighter, forcing Keith to close his eyes again.

_ His family was the one that passed down the tradition,  _ it accuses, sounding angry.  _ I simply granted him access. _

_ They had to!  _ Keith shouts.  _ They had to protect Earth from those monsters, from you! _

_ And you want to take that burden upon yourself as well? _

_ Yes,  _ Keith says, resolute.

_ Peculiar,  _ the rift says.  _ Peculiar. _

The rift grows brighter and brighter around Keith, to the point where he fears he may go blind. Suddenly, he feels heavy again.

Keith snaps his eyes open and jolts upwards, only to find himself sitting on the front porch. No sooner after having this realization does a bitch of a headache kick in, and Keith doubles over, groaning and holding his head.

He can’t seem to get any relief. He canㅡ he can feel  _ everything  _ in the swamp, hyper aware of every presence in the immediate area. It’s completely overwhelming.

The door slams open behind him, but he’s in so much pain he doesn’t even flinch.

_ “Keith?”  _ he hears Lance say from behind him. “What did you  _ do?” _

“Meditated,” Keith grunts. Lance nimbly drops to a crouch besides him, and rubs his back.

“You… I can feel you through the bond of the rift,” Lance says. “How did you…?”

“Rift’s a jerk,” Keith says. “M’head hurts.”

“Yeah, I bet,” Lance says. “I don’t think anyone’s ever made a connection  _ that _ strong  _ that _ fast, you stubborn bastard.”

Keith just flips him off.

“C’mon, let’s get you inside,” Lance says, pulling Keith to his feet. “Take a nap or something. Then you can fill me in on what the hell you’ve been up to.”

“Sounds good,” Keith manages. As soon as Lance places him onto the couch, he’s out like a light.

 

❈

 

“Oh… c’mon…”

Keith snorts awake, jarring the body that lays atop him. Something solid lands on his face, causing him to snap upwards.

“Hey!” Lance shouts, being forcibly displaced from Keith’s torso, spilling back into his lap. “I was  _ reading  _ there, y’know.”

“Oh,  _ so-rry  _ for disturbing your prime real-estate,” Keith grumbles groggily. “What’d you drop on me?”

“A book,” Lance says, stooping down to grab the book from where it dropped onto the floor. He presents the cover to Keith, who is surprised to come face-to-face with a picture of a jet. It’s that garbage book he picked up at Coran’s.

“And you’re actually… enjoying that?”

“Yeah? Why would I read a book that I didn’t like?”

“That book’s garbage though,” Keith says, more taken aback than anything else.

“No it’s not!” Lance defends, clutching the book to his chest. “It’s very high-stakes and thrilling!”

“It’s some guy’s power fantasy,” Keith argues. “It’s all historically inaccurate.”

“So maybe the author wants to put himself in the main character’s shoes,” Lance says. “Is that so bad?”

“At the cost of good characterization, yeah.”

“Whatever,” Lance says, mock sniffing and turning his nose up at Keith. “It has good romance, so I like it.” Keith looks at him deadpan, not amused.

“I apologize for your taste in literature. That’s tragic.”

“Okay,  _ what?”  _ Lance squawks. “Are you allergic to a good love story?”

“I’m allergic to the ones where the romance is  _ bad,” _ Keith sasses, laying down with his hands tucked under his head. Lance is quick to retake his spot, laying draped across Keith’s chest.

“Calvin’s choice between Ruth, Katrina, and Jaya is very tricky!” Lance exclaims, referring to the protagonist and his love interests respectively. “Ruth is super smart, but she’s a little cold and uncaring. She’s totally fine with walking all over his toes, which if you ask me, isn’t what he needs. Katrina is fun and bubbly, but she’s totally emotionally dependent on him, which isn’t healthy.”

Keith quirks an eyebrow at him. “I didn’t know you were so invested.”

_ “I  _ didn’t know you were so heartless,” Lance says, act-sniffling and bringing a finger under his eye to flick away an non-existent tear.

“I’m not heartless just because I don’t like that book,” Keith grumbles quietly, more to himself than anything else. Lance ignores him, flipping through the book to find the page he was on. Keith decides on going back to his nap, but a general sense of discomfort keeps him awake.

He feels sore, as if his entire body was one big bruise, and there’s a light but constant pounding at the back of his head that does just enough to pull him from the edge of sleep every time he comes to unconsciousness.

“Hey, you doing alright down there?” Lance says, poking at Keith’s nose. “Your face keeps scrunching up every five minutes or so.”

“M’head hurts,” Keith says. “Can’t fall back asleep.”

“Head hurts, feeling  _ ouch  _ all over, dead-tired?”

“Yeah,” Keith says, a little sheepishly.

“That’s how I’ve been feeling the past week,” Lance says softly. “It’s the connection with the rift.”

“All this,” Keith says, sounding frustrated, “because of one monster?” Lance puts the book down, dropping it over the side of the couch. He slides his arms under Keith’s back, holding him close. He hums an affirmative into Keith’s chest. “And… it’s going to be bigger than the last?”

“I’m sorry, Keith,” Lance mumbles. “I should’veㅡ”

“Hey,” Keith says firmly. “We’re not getting into this again. I’m right in the middle of this because I  _ want  _ to be. I  _ chose  _ to be.” Lance looks up at him, making eye contact. “I’m right there with you,” Keith finishes.

Lance leans in, and kisses him. Keith, 100% not expecting this, makes a surprised noise into said kiss.

“Maybe you’re not so heartless,” Lance says as he pulls away, placing his head on Keith’s chest. Keith pinches his side, and things devolve from there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Ya boi's back with another chapter. I have had _major_ writing block when it comes to this fic, so this one was kinda hard to get out. Feedback's been a little lackluster, that's all. I mean, the fandom's been dead, so it makes sense, lol.
> 
> We're coming to a close here, folks! Honestly, I wish this thing had 20 chapters so I could have a nice rounded number, but alas. Fate is cruel. After I'm done with this, I have two other WIPs I'm hoping to finish up. They won't be chapter-by-chapter, though. Through this fic, I've found that's not quite the writing style for me!
> 
> I'll leave you guys a sneak-peek description of the WIPs in the notes of the next chapter update... stay tuned! ;3c


	17. Ready, Aim...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, big thanks all around to Sophie for beta-reading!

“Friends, loved ones, and fellow amphibians…”

Keith and Lance are gathered around a small grave, one which is marked only by two sticks twined together in a cross-shape and disturbed soil. They’re joined by at least one-hundred frogs, called over at Lance’s whim.

Lance has bracketed himself against Keith’s side for his own comfort. Losing Blue has been really hard on him, and even now, he’s fighting through sniffles while reading a pre-written statement.

“We are gathered here today to mourn Blue, a very close friend, companion, and overall, a very good girl.” Lance removes a hand from the very shaky grip he has on the piece of paper to scrub at his eyes. “Blue and I met in this swamp, almost a year ago. S-she kept me company while I was alone out here, and gave me someone to care for and talk to during a very difficult time in my life. Herㅡ” Lance’s eyes water. “Her… oh, I can’t do this! Keith, please finish reading this for me.”

Lance passes off the paper to Keith, who awkwardly takes hold of it, eyes skimming over Lance’s writing, printed in surprisingly neat capitals.

“Uh,” Keith begins, as eloquently as ever, “her sacrifice will not be forgotten. Blue was an important, loyal friend. She will be dearly missed.”

Lance waves a hand, dismissing the frogs gathered about them. As they hop away, Keith and Lance remain.

“I know she’s probably just a frog to you,” Lance says, “but she meant a lot to me.”

“Pets mean a lot to anyone,” Keith says. “Doesn’t matter if they’re a bit unorthodox.” They’re silent for a bit longer. Once Lance has collected himself, he looks up at Keith with probing eyes.

“Keith,” he asks, “can we…” Lance trails off, gaze fluttering about. He seems uncertain.

“What is it?” Keith gently prompts.

“Um… this might be kinda fast, but I was wondering…” Lance shuffles awkwardly, then scrunches his eyes closed tightly. “Actually, no nevermind.” He gently pulls away from Keith, giving him a lasting look before heading back home. Keith looks back down at Blue’s grave, contemplating a moment longer.

“Thank you for being there for him,” he says, before heading back home himself.

 

❈

 

The sun beats down upon the gravel driveway on an almost uncharacteristically sunny day. Given the weather, it’s actually rather pleasant to be outside despite the constant and slowly increasing ache Keith feels.

“So, harnessing energy from water,” Lance says from where he sits on the front porch, “or from fire in your case, is really another sort of meditative thing.”

Keith shifts from foot to foot on the gravel, feeling restless. His grip on the lighter in his left hand rhythmically tightens and loosens.

“I know, meditation is boring and sucks, but it’s necessary for this whole magic thing. Just don’t go all weird and comatose like last time. This is regular meditation, not ‘I’m going to briefly transcend to a different plane of existence and then throw myself into a vat of ancient energy for the sake of getting things done a little quiㅡ’”

“Lance!” Keith yells, twitching. He’s already juggling a ball flame between his palms. “I _get_ it. Can we please move on?” Lance make an exasperated gesture, but rises to his feet and gathers water about himself in a hula-hoop-esque ring.

“Alright, so, feel your bond with the water, fire, whatever,” Lance begins.

“I’ve been doing that,” Keith grits. “What next?”

“Cool your jets!” Lance exclaims, giving him the stink eye. Then, under his breath: “What did I _just_ say?”

At a normal volume, Lance continues on. “Okay, so think of a math problem, right? Y’know when your math teacher would hit you with some stupid question that didn’t _actually_ have a solution, but a simplified form? We’ve gotta try to get to the “simplified” essence of this stuff.” He pauses. “Don’t worry about being good at math, or anything. It’s just a metaphor. I’m not very good at math, so.”

With the drawn-out example in mind, Keith tries to do what Lance explained to him. He feels himself resonating with the fire in front of him, and tries to get to the basis of that bond.

“Am I doing alright with this whole teaching thing?” Lance interrupts, sounding needlessly concerned with the idea. “Like, is this doing anything for you or do I just sound dumb?”

“Lance,” Keith says, an edge of frustration in his voice. “Trying to meditate.”

“Oh, right,” Lance says sheepishly, waving a hand in a dismissive manner. “Uh, disregard.”

_Okay, so,_ Keith thinks, trying to get into spirit-bond-nature-mode. Establish bond, resonate, cut to the basis. Totally easy. Easy-peasy. Looking down at his open palms, he sees absolutely no change.

_Man, fuck._

“Man, fuck,” Keith vocalizes.

“Let’s go through it step by step,” Lance suggests, letting his water hoop drop. “Establish connection,” he says, gathering the hoop back, “slowly get to the base of the connection, and then draw that connection out.” A hoop of blue energy pulls from the water to form a second hoop around Lance.

Keith takes a breath in. “Establish connection,” he repeats, looking down at the fire within his grasp. “Get to the base of that connection.”

“Slowly!” Lance interjects.

“Slowly,” Keith amends. “Slowly…”

Nothing happens for a moment, until Keith feels what can only be described as a “pop”, reminiscent to finally opening a particularly stubborn jar lid. Pulling his hands apart, Keith holds a red orb of energy in one hand, and the fire in the other.

“You did it!” Lance exclaims. “Quick, throw it at something!”

Keith, with a particular lack of forethought, hurls the orb directly at Lance, who squeals and flings himself out of the way. Instead of frying Lance, the orb goes right through the wall of the shack.

“Not at me, you dick!” Lance shrieks, hoisting himself off the ground. “What the hell possessed you to do _that?”_

“You said throw it! So I threw it!”

“Threatens me with a knife, throws dangerous energy beam at me,” Lance grumbles. “I really know how to choose ‘em, huh?”

“I panicked!”

Lance walks over to fresh hole in the side of the house and peers in. “That’s definitely gonna need some patchwork,” he comments. “Didn’t go through the other side, though!”

“Great, thanks,” Keith groans.

“Let’s try that again,” Lance says, looking back at Keith over his shoulder. _“Without_ me as the target!”

Keith rolls his eyes.

Five minutes later, the two have constructed a makeshift shooting range (which is facing _away_ from the house) out of old boxes, cans, and other junk lying around the shack.

“This’ll work awesome,” Lance says, pumping a fist in the air. “You ready to go?”

Keith juggles a ball of energy in his hands. “Born ready,” he grins.

“Ready, aim, fire!” Lance shouts. With the overhand of an enraged pitcher, Keith lobbs the energy ball at the leftmost target, a box that’s large enough to prove an easy hit. He watches as the energy ball careens over the box, hardly grazing it. It lands some distance away in the swamp. Lance’s cheers of support abruptly stop as he chokes and starts howling with laughter. Keith feels himself flush bright red.

“Whatever, Lance!” he shouts over Lance’s cackling. “It’s my second time at this, okay?”

Lance manages to control himself enough to wheeze out, “That was the biggest target we had! H-how’d you miss it?”

“My aim isn’t the best!” Keith insists, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Yeah, I’ll say!”

Keith scowls, looking down at the ground. Lance manages to get a hold of himself and slinks up behind Keith, who’s determined to ignore him.

“Baaaaby,” he drawls, arms moving to hug around Keith’s waist. “It was funny, okay? No one’s perfect, so of course you’re not gonna get it right off the bat.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Keith says, not-so-subtly slipping out of Lance’s arms when he feels the tips of his ears grow hot. “I’ll get it this time.”

“Okay,” Lance snickers, running back over to the sidelines. “You got this!”

“You’re too much,” Keith sighs under his breath. He looks over to Lance one more time, and receives a thumbs-up from him.

Keith readies himself. Takes aim, and… fires!

He manages to hit the tin can two targets over.

Before the _peanut gallery_ can make any commentary, he turns to fix Lance with the sternest glare he has.

“G-good job, hon,” Lance wheezes, refraining himself. “You got one. I mean it’s not the box, butㅡ okay, shutting up now.”

“There’s got to be some other way to do this,” Keith says, frustrated. “I don’t have good enough aim for this!”

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you,” Lance says, crossing his arms over his chest. “All my family ever used was projectiles. I really doubt that you can even change the shape of it at all…”

Keith stops listening as Lance keeps rambling. He forms another energy beam and stares down at it, eyebrows furrowed.

“I know that the _size_ of it will change depending on how much water-fire-whatever you pick up…”

Keith moves his palms apart whilst trying to pull the energy to either hand, and sure enough, it stretches. Keith’s taken aback as the energy snaps to his right hand and comes to a long point, hovering just above his fingers, sitting so it points in the direction Keith’s fingers do.

“And, honestly, if there _was_ any way to change the energy from projectiles to something else, I definitely would’ve figured it outㅡ whaddya have there?”

Keith looks up, smiling. “This.” He waves his arm around.

“...Yeah, sure, just figure out how to change its shape, I guess,” Lance says, frowning. “How are you even supposed to use that?”

Keith braces himself in front of the box, and with a swing of his arm he slices it clear in half. He looks back at Lance as the box thumps gently to the ground, smiling confidently. Lance stares at his energy saber, mouth agape.

“You made a _sword?”_ he exclaims.

Keith holds his hand in front of his face, palm facing outwards. “I guess I did,” he says, still smiling.

“That is so cool,” Lance groans, smacking a hand to his face. “No fair.” Keith swings his arm around a few more times, then takes out the rest of the targets.

“It doesn’t dissipate after one hit,” Keith observes. “I won’t have to keep going back to the lighter.” He looks over at Lance, who’s sitting on the deck, chin resting on his hands. The expression on his face is so dreamy that he almost looks dopey. It takes Lance a moment to realize that Keith’s talking to him.

“Uhㅡ what did you say?” Lance stammers, sitting up straight awkwardly.

“Actually, nevermind that. What was _that_ look about?” Keith teases.

“Iㅡ youㅡ Excuse me!” Lance splutters. “Who says that’s any of your business?” Keith dismisses his sword and walks over to Lance, sitting next to him.

“It’s almost as if you like me or something,” Keith says, smirking.

“Pshaw, yeah right!” Lance says, waving a hand. “Keep dreaming.”

“You sure?” Keith says, leaning until he’s crowding Lance’s space. “Maybe I can change your mind.”

Lance is flushed bright red against the deck. “You’re a menace. A demon I’ve invited into my own home.”

“Sounds like a you problem,” he says, leaning in. Training is disregarded for the rest of the day.

 

❈

 

_Where am I?_

With a fumbling sort of awareness, Keith tries to orient himself. Everything is extraordinarily bright, and he has to blink bleary eyes multiple times until he gets his bearings.

He recognizes his living room, and turns around to spy his own body sleeping on the couch, back turned to himself. Lance’s arm sprawled over his torso and Lance’s legs, laying haphazardly over Keith’s own, are all that can be seen of him from behind Keith.

_You’re dreaming,_ Keith hears Lance say. Confused, Keith walks over to the couch. Both forms lay sound asleep.

_Are you awake?_ Keith asks.

_No,_ Lance’s disembodied voice calls. Keith blinks, and the world around him shifts to the fire pit outside, which is roaring in a blaze that spikes high up, taller than himself. With the wavering of a flickering flame, the fire shrinks and reforms, taking the form of Lance.

_Something’s happening,_ the flame says.

_What’s going on? What’re you doing?_ For some reason, Keith feels panicked.

_It’s dangerous,_ the flame says. _It’s scary._ It reaches out a hand of fire to graze Keith’s face, cradling it. _You’ll do this for me, right?_

_I said I would,_ Keith says, almost desperately. _I said I wouldㅡ_ _I will._

The fire, with a characteristic suddenness, lunges forwards and pulls him in.

_Then I’m sorry. Thank you._ Just as he’s engulfed in flames, Keith wakes up.

He shoots up and locks eyes with Lance, who’s sitting up on his legs with a panicked expressions.

“The rift,” Keith says, a little breathless. “Was thatㅡ?”

“Weㅡ we have to go,” Lance says, throwing himself off the couch and towards the door. Keith’s quick to follow suit. “I think this is it,” Lance says worriedly while tugging his shoes and reed cloak on.

Keith catches his hand. “You mean the monster. The one that’s tearing apart the rift.” As he says it, it becomes more of a realization than a question. Lance looks off-put by this, as if Keith speaking of it has birthed the monster into existence.

“We have to go,” Lance repeats, letting Keith hang onto his arm as he pulls them out the door.

As Keith steps outside, he can’t help but notice that this time it’s morning, and the sun shines bright.

This time, they have a chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! It's been ~~it's been over a month I'm so sorry~~ a while!
> 
> I would like to seriously, _seriously_ thank you all SO much for all the comments I got on the last chapter! All your support absolutely blew me away!
> 
> I would've preferred to get this chapter out sooner as thanks, but unfortunately I had a lot of difficulty on the 18th chapter _and_ a busy schedule (I prefer to have at least one finished chapter of buffer zone before putting out another). It's still not quite done, but I wanted to get this one out for you guys regardless. Despite the problems I've run into, all the lovely feedback I got really, really helps me every time I sit down to work.
> 
> So, what's next after GOTS?  
> -Right now I've got one WIP going, about Adam/Shiro and their relationship, also featuring ~~their son~~ Keith. Lots of family feels if you're interested in that! Still contemplating on just _how_ canon compliant it'll be.  
>  -Secondly, I have another horror one-shot conceptualized. They might be, erm, unpopular, but I really do love writing them. Stick around if that's your jam as well! I'm going for some extraterrestrial terror with poor Lance at the forefront. Still not sure if there'll be any shipping in this one.
> 
> As always, thank you guys so much for reading and commenting! They really do help me out.
> 
>  
> 
> keith can't aim pass it on


	18. When This Is All Over

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, once again, to my lovely beta, Sophie <3

This time, the have a chance. This time, they have a chance. This timeㅡ

 

❈

 

_ His childhood home is completely unrecognizable. Being reduced to splinters would do that. _

_ Lance remembers awaking under a pile of rubble. He remembers weakly pushing the debris aside, remembers the burning pain in his back, remembersㅡ _

_ He remembers bodies, strewn about, as still and stiff as marionettes with their strings cut. _

_ As still and stiff as _ ㅡ

_ As still and stiff as _ ㅡ

 

❈

 

With a  _ shlunk,  _ Lance falls to the ground, bringing an abrupt halt to their race over to the rift. Keith, after continuing a few strides before realizing Lance is no longer keeping pace with him, falls back to where Lance himself is hunched over, knees in the mud.

“Come on, come on,” Keith urges, grasping Lance’s forearms to pull him out of the dirt. “We don’t have time to waste.” Keith pulls harder, but Lance smacks his hands away and curls in on himself tightly. His body is wracked with small tremors.

Taking a different approach, Keith crouches down to Lance’s level.

“What is it?” Keith implores. “What’s wrong?”

“We’re going to die,” Lance says with surprising volume, almost wailing. “We’re gonna die.” With a sudden desperation, Lance latches to Keith. “Keith, I don’t want to die!”

Keith startles, taken aback. “What makes you think we’re going to  _ die?” _

“I don’t want to lose everything again,” Lance sniffles. “I can’tㅡ I can’tㅡ”

“Hey, hey,” Keith says, rubbing his back. “We can do this.”

“What makes our odds any better?” Lance asks, despondent. “What do we have that  _ my family  _ didn’t?”

Keith looks at Lance, feeling shocked and concerned. Lance seems to shrink impossibly smaller.

“I don’t know enough about what happened to them to say either way,” Keith says softly after a moment. “But I do know that you’re  _ good  _ at what you do, Lance. You’ve kept how many monsters away by yourself for how long now? You’ve grown a lot stronger since then.” Keith brushes a hand against his cheek. “You have help now, too. We  _ can  _ do this.”

“I’m scared,” Lance admits after a moment.

“No one’s expecting you to not be,” Keith reassures. “I’m scared too.” Lance doesn’t buy it.

“You don’t seem very scared,” Lance scoffs.

Keith scratches his cheek awkwardly. After a moment of hesitation he admits, “Usually I don’t really think things through enough to get scared. When I start getting my ass handed to me, then I get scared.”

“You’re dumb,” Lance jeers, but there’s no real fire behind it. His eyes won’t meet Keith’s. Keith decides to let Lance’s purposefully argumentative tone slide.

“Maybe a little. But I’m not  _ going  _ to be scared.” He tilts Lance’s chin up so he can look him in the eyes. “Because we’re going to win this. We’ve got it, ‘uh, in the bag.’”

Lance scrunches his eyes closed tight, and when he opens them, there’s a sort of determination glimmering there. He stands up, pulling Keith up after him.

“We’ve got this,” Lance says, holding out a hand. Keith takes it with a confident grin.

“It’s you, me, and ugly over there,” Lance says, gesturing in the direction of the rift. “Let’s show this thing who’s boss.”

“Lead the way,” Keith says, smirking.

A few more meters, and they run right into the clearing. Like last time, the ground shakes, but this time it’s nearly enough to knock the two over. Lance would’ve fallen had Keith not caught him by their entwined hands. No sooner than Lance is steady on his feet do multiple arms push up through the rift, about sixteen.

The two watch as the sixteen small arms merge to eight regular-sized arms, then to four large arms. These two sets of two grasp onto the dirt and begin to continue pushing on upwards.

“You take the left one,” Lance orders, moving to the right himself. He gathers water about him in large quantities, flowing around him irregularly in an irritated manner. Keith, with aid of his lighter, quickly forms a blade of energy, but this time concentrates it into a smaller, knife-like form and pounces on the monster’s fingers to immediately start hacking away before it has even emerged from the rift. In comparison to the frankly pathetic damage his actual knife had done, this energy knife is sawing through whole fingers.

“Heads up!” Lance shouts as the monster to the right pulls itself from the rift. Keith jumps back as the monster in front of him flails out a bare palm before managing to scrabble out onto the dirt.

These two are slightly larger than the sole creature they had fought last time, and would surely be a hulking figure when combined. As Keith’s monster approaches him, he lets his energy knife shift out to something longer. No sooner do they start exchanging blows does a deafening  _ crack  _ ring out.

“The rift!” he hears Lance yell. Keith looks up from his opponent, but not for long, as his momentary distraction serves as enough time for the creature to sweep Keith’s feet out from under him. From where he’s pinned, Keith bares his teeth before surging up and forcing the monster away. The creature lunges forwards, and Keith has to leap back in order to avoid it. To his surprise, he lands back-to-back with Lance

“The rift,” Lance says again, firing a few shots. “It’s fracturing!”

“What do we do about that?” Keith asks, twisting away to slash at one of the creatures.

“I can’tㅡ ugh, come here!” An arm latches onto Keith, yanking him backwards. Lance forms a temporary water shield around the two, one that’s low enough to force them to crouch on the ground.

“I’m worried something else might try to come though. We  _ can’t  _ let it get any larger,” Lance says, voice urgent. “But we can’t fix it if we’re both fighting one of those fuckers.”

“So what are you thinking?” Keith says, wincing as one of the monsters lands a particularly hard blow on the shield.

“We’re going to have to get them to merge together into their actual form,” Lance frowns. “I don’t like it, but that way one of us can deal with the rift.”

“Okay,” Keith nods. He brings a hand to his chin, pensive. “When you let up on the bubble, we’ll slide out from under them. From there, we’ll have to corner it back to back, or something. Once they merge, you can deal with the rift, and I’ll keep it distracted.”

Lance, who had been nodding along, abruptly stops. “What? No, I’ll take on the monster. The rift will be safer to deal with.”

“I don’t even know how to shrink the rift,” Keith argues. “I can handle it. Trust me.” Lance looks conflicted. He curses, but agrees to the plan.

“Justㅡ wait a minute,” he asks, and pulls off his reed cape from around his shoulders, quickly securing it to Keith. “Be safe,” he begs.

Keith nods firmly. “On three,” he says.

“One.” Another particularly harsh blow has water from the top of the shield dripping down onto them.

“Two.” Keith clutches the cloak to his chest.

“Three!” The shield splashes apart around them, and both duck away to scramble to their feet a few feet elsewhere.

Keith hacks and stabs at one without much finesse, simply trying to get it to move. Lance adopts a similar tactic, relentlessly firing a barrage of shots. As they close up the gap between themselves, either half of the monster come into contact and, thankfully, begin to combine.

“It’s merging!” Keith shouts to Lance. “Go!”

Lance doesn’t have to be told twice, and books it over to the rift. The monster shifts to follow Lance, but with a few slices, Keith gains its undivided attention.

If its two halves were large, its true form is… colossal.

Like a small dog facing off against a dog much larger than itself, Keith goes for the ankles. While trying to sidestep him, the creature loses its balance, and goes tumbling to the ground. With a shout, Keith jumps on its arm and gets to work on sawing it off. He’s got a sizable gash going, but is forcibly dislodged by a smack from the monster’s free hand.

Keith rolls at least three times before coming to a stop, whereupon he jerks himself onto his knees. He catches sight of the monster, whose damaged arm has resized to be slightly smaller than the other. It’s shifting towards where Lance is standing in front of the rift, trying to coax it smaller.

“Behind you! Keith screams, trying to get to his feet, but stumbles and biffs it face-first into the ground. Pushing his head out of the dirt, Keith, in a final act of desperation, reaches his sword-bearing hand out towards the unfolding scene.

From his sword beams a shot of narrow red energy, blasting the monster right through the head. It’s not a beam as impressive as the ones that Lance can manifest, but it does its job.

The monster’s body gurgles as it’s momentarily stunned, giving Keith time to rush to his feet and over to the monster with a shout. Upon impact, he drives his sword right through the monster’s chest. Briefly, he looks over at Lance, who’s lowering shaky arms from out in front of him. He’s gotten the rift under control.

In the next second, the creature’s body spikes out into multiple blobs, evidently not enjoying being stuck through. It reforms in four separate spots, each one just about human-sized. Keith’s immediately swarmed by three of them. He manages to subdue one of them when the other two gang up on him, and he takes a particularly nasty punch to the eye.

He doubles over briefly, cursing, and receives a knee to the gut for his divided attention. He falls to the ground, and recovers just fast enough to see two large beams of blue energy take out the remaining creatures.

“Good God, man,” Lance huffs behind him, pulling Keith to his feet. “What were you thinking, taking all of those guys on at once?”

“I didn’t ask them to divide on me!” Keith shoots back. Lance grins over at him, enjoying the banter for what it’s worth. The grin falls as they gaze upon the last half of the rift creature.

The creature gurgles; ripples cascade through its body. In what appears to be one last desperate attempt at success, it streamlines its form in a direct sprint towards Lance. Before it can even think of making an impact, Keith is there, running it through with his energy saber.

“It’s over,” he says to the monster, staring down at it with hard, apathetic eyes. “It’s done.”

The creature opens its “mouth”, only to swallow an energy beam from Lance. Upon impact, it explodes violently, bursting into multiple particles before blowing away in the morning breeze.

Both stand there, not moving an inch from the attack positions they held. Lance is first to break the silence.

“We… we did it?” he asks more than states. “It’s gone?”

“It’s gone,” Keith confirms. He looks to Lance with excited eyes. “It’s gone.”

“We  _ did  _ it!” Lance exclaims, this time with the bravado Keith would expect from him. Unable to control himself, Lance scoops Keith into his arms and swirls him around, laughing all the while. When Keith’s feet find the ground again, he’s looking into Lance’s shimmering eyes, wrapped soundly in his embrace. Lance, scruffled, battle-exhausted Lance, beams with the morning sun. He’s beautiful, safe, sound, and  _ alive  _ in Keith’s arms.

“I love you,” Keith says. He doesn’t quite blurt it, although it is certainly an unexpected statement for both himself and Lance, if Lance’s facial expression is anything to go by. Regardless, he doesn’t regret saying it, and means it as much as he possibly could.

Lance, in the meanwhile, is stuttering and blubbering away, trying to formulate a response. Keith simply smiles, scoops him up into his arms, and starts the walk home.

“I can’tㅡ I can  _ not  _ believe you,” Lance says grumpily. “Springing that on me and stuff. You’re ridiculous, I hope you know.”

“I’ve been told,” Keith quips.

“Everything about you,” Lance barrels on. “Justㅡ oh,  _ just now  _ for example!” He straightens up in Keith’s hold, drawing an instructing finger up. “Bringing a knife to a gunfight. What’s wrong with you, man?”

“You were the only one with a gun, though. It’s not really even a gun at all.”

“Nuh-uh! Not true! The rift monster can fire off projectiles!”

“I still don’t think those count as guns.”

Lance pouts as he summons the lilypad bridge. “You just don’t want to admit that you’re losing this argument.”

Keith snorts. “Sure.”

They lapse into silence as Lance’s brow becomes more and more furrowed. He’s thinking very hard about something. It’s cute.

“Keith?” he asks.

“Yeah?”

“Let’s get a dog.”

Keith blinks. “A dog?”

“A puppy works too, I guess.”

Keith can’t help the incredulous laugh he lets out. “What brought this on?”

“You said you had a dog when you were younger,” Lance says, “so I thought you’d be good at raising one. Andㅡ well, it’s not a  _ replacement  _ for Blue at all, but… I miss having a pet around.”

Keith contemplates this. This is, well, getting a  _ dog  _ together? That’s a pretty big step forwards in their relationship.

Lance looks up at him with those blue eyes of his.

_ Damn it. _

“First,” Keith says, matter-of-factly, “we are going back home, taking a shower, and then sleeping. Indefinitely. Then, I have to fix the hole in the wall. After…” Keith looks down at him softly. “Maybe after all that.”

Lance beams. “That’s all you needed to say, baby.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo! One chapter left! I hope you guys are ready for a fluffy epilogue.  
> When I get around to posting it, I'm going to re-read the whole fic and correct any missed errors and clunky sentences.
> 
> Thank you guys all so much for all the continued support. Honestly, I don't think I would've pushed through to the end without it.
> 
> Enjoyed the work? Let me know by leaving a comment! I read all of them :)


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